The River of Thought
by Rahuratna
Summary: Badly wounded, and with his Ka monster at a fraction of its original strength, Thief Bakura escapes the palace dungeons for the Sumer river valley. Determined to re-capture him, Seth follows, but neither anticipate the darkness that awaits . . .
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh or any characters from Yugioh described in this fic.

**Author notes: **This fic is set in Ancient Egypt and Sumer (the lower portion of Mesopotamia in 3000 BC). The events making up the storyline are based on canon, but do not adhere to it, in that it describes the battle between Atem and Bakura, Bakura's subsequent defeat and imprisonment and a different fate for the Millenium Items. The necessary map can be found on my profile for referral purposes.

**The River of Thought**

_There is silence at initiation of the waters. The Armenian hills echo with the soft chime of falling water as the Euphrates is born, pouring in pure iridiscence to the awaiting rock pools below. Captured and locked in the strong embrace of rocks, the stream narrows, gushing towards the valleys of the Taurean mountains, ever gaining in volume. The roaring waters pass, still fresh, to the awaiting Fertile Crescent. The river of purity passes the eagle's eyerie, the mountain goat's indifferent eye. _

_The first signs of decay show themselves as the waters churn up the rich silt of the valley, dragging its murky burden to the lush green hills awaiting it. The river of murk passes the villages, the farms, the irrigation channels and the men and women, ankle deep in mud and sludge. It carries their whispers, of darkness, of illness, of dread to the cities._

_The river of fear passes though the cities of Lagash and Ur, absorbing their foetid breath, the decay and despair at their hearts. The river of thought, of disease and corruption, flows to the sea._

It was dark in the cell. He could not distinguish his own fingers through the gloom, and waving them about sent harsh jolts of pain flaming along his nerves. He knew that this was only part of his punishment, this chained and solitary vigil in the bowelsof the palace. His wounds were raw and throbbing with imminent infection. Arms and legs bound to metal brackets set into the wall at angles designed to cause acute discomfort, he shifted slightly, muscles screaming with prolonged strain. Matted white hair, once gleaming in unique defiance, lay against his cheeks, putrid with vomit and his own blood. He heard a rat rustle amongst the rotting straw scattered over the cell floor and lifted his head, eyes glinting with undiluted rage into the darkness.

He had lost. The weightless sensation around his neck where the Millenium Ring had once hung dragged him down worse than any previous failure had done. It was gone. Back into the Pharoah's hands, to be handed over to Mahado's apprentice when she was fully trained. _His_ Millenium Ring. His people's. He could feel them surround him in the shadows, silent and mocking, their cold, dead eyes holding silent reproval. He had failed them.

A low growl escaped the captive's lips, helpless and enraged. He could not summon his Ka. Diabound's presence was barely tangible over the fever and delirium. But he was there. Waiting to be unleashed again. He just didn't have the key. The Thief King closed his eyes and lowered his proud head in the shadows of his cell, where none but the dead could see.

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"My Pharoah, you summoned me." Seth's deep, confident voice echoed through the audience chambers as he approached his Monarch, seated at the head of the conference table. Atem looked up, his weary features relaxing into a smile at the sight of his most trusted advisor and High Priest. Seth bowed low and seated himself to the right.

"Seth, my dear friend, I never got to thank you properly for your part in defeating Bakura."

Seth looked slightly discomforted and Atem smiled. He had never been one for shows of affection. Seth coughed. "Indeed, my Pharoah. There remains the question of Bakura's public execution."

"Yes," breathed Atem with a sigh. "Once his period of solitary confinement is over, I'll trust that you announce his execution to the people."

"My Pharoah, do you really think it's wise, allowing him a period of recuperation before his death?" asked the High Priest, a slightly worried expression crossing his features, "You know how resilient he is. He may attempt something . . ."

"His Ka has been contained, Seth. Our combined attacks saw to that. He is nothing but a weakened, bitter man. There is no physical danger from him."

Seth frowned, still unconvinced. "All the same, I think you should bring the execution forward. Let it occur in three days time, he will still be weak."

Atem nodded slowly. "Perhaps you are right. Inform the executioner and send out runners to all the assembly points of the city."

"It is done, my Pharoah."

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Light shifted across his vision. Eyelids gummed together with sweat and grime opened blearily as the numerous bolts and levers holding him captive were undone and the cell door pushed open.

"Here's the scum," said a rough male voice and a hand, matching the voice in texture, tugged his hair up brutally and pinched the bridge of his nose. The clink of scimitars and the glint of torchlight on gilt breastplates told him that the elite Pharoah's troops had been sent down to prevent any escape attempts. His air supply cut off, Bakura opened his mouth to gasp for air and was rewarded with a piece of mouldy bread. He gagged, choking on the rock-like crust as it was cruelly forced down his throat, tearing through the soft tissue. The clink of a bottle cap was heard and icy water followed the bread. The man who had him by the hair deliberately tilted back his head such that some water flooded his nostrils and poured into his eyes. Wheezing and twisting away desperately, Bakura shot him a venemous glare, an expression that had once sent brave men scampering for their lives. Now all it earned was a harsh laugh and a heavy blow to the side of his head.

His vision blurring over, Bakura's rage surfaced once more, an irrational, animalisitc flare. He lunged forward, feeling his teeth meet in the flesh of the man's forearm, hearing a satisfying shout of pain. He hung on, feeling the meat tear slightly between his pointed teeth as a heavy sword butt came down hard between his eyes. They beat him then, re-opening old wounds, smashing in the new. He screamed, he thrashed, he howled in rage and laughed at his own impotence as they drove him deeper and deeper into agony and despair. And then, just before the darkness took him, he saw how it was to be done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh or any characters from Yugioh described in this fic.

**Author notes: **Thanks for the great reviews! Glad you like it.Lol, here's "moar".

**The River of Thought**

They had nothing but hatred for him, as he had for them, harsh and strong as hot steel on an open wound. It was evident in their eagerness to cause him pain and humiliation, their excited, heavy breathing, their muffled laughter and revelation in their own strength as they beat him. He, who had once been so invincible, so proud, now a mere shadow of his former magnificence, a grovelling, snarling creature at their feet.

There is a darkness, a beast at the heart of every man, so he believed. Here, in this isolated cell, far from the prying eyes of the righteous and the honourable, here they unleashed their own demons on him. He lay listening to them breathe, almost as if a single, many-headed entity gazed at him with malevolent satisfaction. He could feel their delight in his pain, their desire to cause more. _It is addictive, this power, is it not? _he silently mocked them. They would be back tomorrow, he knew that now. And he would be ready.

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Seth strode thorugh the palace halls, the signed and sealed proclamation from his Pharoah clutched tightly in his hand, the wax from the royal seal still warm against his palm. He was much relieved that the Pharoah had agreed with his proposition to bring the execution date forward. Seth, though headstrong and aggressive, was a cautious man. And he would rather take no risks whatsoever where Bakura was involved. He stopped outside his private audience chambers where the Sumerian merchant, Sin-nasir, awaited him with records of the slaves that had been traded in the market that day to the noble houses.

The merchant was a short, dark eyed man, hair reaching his shoulders in greased waves, neatly parted in the middle. He wore a long robe, an embroidered silk sash wrapped around his large middle and a similar shawl draped over his shoulders leaving his right shoulder and arm bare, as was the fashion with most Sumerian men. He bowed low as Seth entered, allowing his richly textured shawl to sweep the floor in order for Seth to appreciate the fine work. Seth seated himself, rather impatiently waving for the man to sit and help himself to the wine provided.

"Greetings, Sin-nasir. I trust your trading was prosperous?"

"Most satisfactory, my Lord. I have the records here." He handed several clay tablets over, inscribed with the wedged, stylus script. Seth nodded shortly and placed them aside. He was one of the few members amongst the Pharoah's royal court who had mastered several languages and the reading and interpretation of the records, thus most translation and state affairs were handled by himself and the scribes who worked under him.

"What is the state of things in Ur?"

A shadow passed over the merchant's fleshy face. "Things are not well at all, High Priest. More of the same you heard of last. And nobody knows where they go to, how they return, or what in the name of Inanna happened to them."

"Indeed," Seth's penetrating gaze scanned the troubled merchant carefully. "Has nobody ordered an investigation into these strange events?"

He was answered with a terse nod. "The city-states have ordered decrees to be sent out. A curfew has been ruled. But the state-priests are busy men. They have to attend to their duties or the land and the harvest will suffer. They are all terrified though. You can see it. They need answers which are terribly slow in coming." The merchant shifted slightly, looking rather uncomfortable. "And there are other . . . rumours. In Lagash, children have been disappearing. Infants and mothers too. Not too many to cause panic, but enough to cause concern."

Seth leaned back, frowning slightly. "It's the first I've heard of it."

"Not many are aware. They have tried to keep these matters quiet. What with the Akkadians in the north stirring up trouble, such a tale is the last thing people need."

Seth snorted in disbelief. "You're leaders have their heads in the sand if they think that's going to help. When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning, we leave with the sunrise. There's a strong current down the Nile. I plan to take full advantage of it."

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He could not understand why his Ka was so much weakened. Diabound was a reflection of his soul, not his physical well-being. His hatred was the same as it had always been, so why would he not manifest in all his glory? What had they done to him? He squirmed against his shackles, allowing the cold metal to dig into his wrists, the pain keeping him awake. Diabound was present, he could feel it, but a mere whisper, a shadow in his mind. He'd had to re-think his strategy. In these confined conditions, the guards would not hesitate to cut him to pieces the moment they sensed he was attempting to summon his Ka monster. And what a pitiful attempt that would be, he mocked. No, he needed something more subtle, something that they wouldn't see until the very last minute. Then the Thief King laughed silently in the dark, his mouth agape, eyes suddenly feverish and bright. _A reflection of his soul_. There was one thing Diabound was still capable of.

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They came for him again that night. The ritual of bread and water was cursorily performed and the aggravation began. They started by lightly prodding him with their feet, hushed chuckles grating and echoing within the small, nightmareish enclosure. He lay still, giving himself time to focus. They would get what they deserved, all in good time. The kicking became harder, rougher. One used his fist to pound against Bakura's injured midriff. He still lay quietly, allowing the malice and fury to build and build. Little by little he released the weakened essence of his Ka monster, unfurling like a dark flag in the tiny cell. The men continued, their blows ever more brutal. He smirked mentally.

_Oh yes, my friends, I know how good it feels. To be controlled by hate, to release the monsters within. Give in to the beckoning. You hear it? How seductive the call is? You don't know what it is your body responds to and yet it does. You have no control. You think you are better than the common beast? You are higher, more concious, more enlightened? Ha! _

The amusement and derision escalated as the outpourings of his very soul intertwined, undetected, almost lovingly amongst his attackers. _Come and get me. I'm here, I'm all yours. Do with me as you will. Rip my flesh and tear my dreams. Do you think you can?_

The fists and knees, elbows and sword butts increased in their intensity. They were wordless, caught up in endless violent rapture, blissfully unaware of the silent whispers in the dark from the shadows at their shoulders, the animal gleam in their neighbour's eye. Bakura's shoulders buckled under the strain, but his mind revelled. They were ready. He pushed with all his might internally, releasing the very core of his twisted soul, channeling through his Ka monster. _Follow me, follow me into the darkness, my friends. Hate me, destroy me, I will give you what your heart desires . . ._

A siren's call of blood-lust and rage flooded their senses, awakening a ravening beast in each of their minds and they were no longer men of daylight, men of honour. It happened so suddenly, so naturally, they did not even have time to think about how it was that it had occurred. One of the guards was pushed aside by his companion and turned on him in bloodthirsty anger. A scream rang out within the small cell as a blade punctured gilt armour._ There is no cure, no light where you go. Drink of my blood, my joy, my rage, and follow . . ._

An iron-clad arm was swung, breaking another's nose. A sword hilt smacked down on an unclad head._ Drown in your madness, your delight. See your beast? How his ear's prick when he tastes your fury? Ha! Follow him down, my friends . . ._

Another blood-curdling yell reverberated against the damp, stone walls. Blood spilt over blackened straw as blades were drawn, beserk, bloodshot eyes exchanged death vows and throats unleashed frenzied sceams. The clash of metal on metal, the grunts of pain, the slash and rip of sword on flesh and the forgotten prisoner raised his dancing eyes. _The shadows call, my friends, answer and be made anew. Bless your disease and curse your gift. Life is yours! Blood is yours for the taking! Drink and be merry! Ha!_

The strong smell of sweat assailed his nostrils as the jailor lurched towards him, a death's head grin plastered across his panting, eager face. He had come too near. A sword was lifted high, exposing a bare chest and Bakura lunged forward, his head colliding squarely with the man's ribcage and he heard a crack. The sword dropped, nicking Bakura's shoulder and clattering to the floor, unnoticed amidst the battle that had spilled into the corridor outside. Twisting his head, Bakura caught the keys hanging from the jailor's belt between his teeth and wrenched them free as the man collapsed against him. He flicked his strong neck, flinging the keys deftly into his right hand. A few moments and a bloody wrist later, his arm was free. _Free yourself! Throw away your heart! Your beast is calling you, my friends. Crush them, kill them, show them who has power. Follow! Follow my lead!_

Freedom cast a biting draught onto his sore wrists and ankles, and he stumbled, gripping the walls, snatching a sword from a still, bloody hand. He swung, carving his way erratically towards the door, laughing as he went. Out in the hallway he stepped over bodies slashed and torn beyond recognition and stripped them of breastplates and sandals. Far above his head, he heard the tramp of many feet and shouted orders as the royal guards were alerted to the cacophony below. They were moving to cut him off. Turning on his heel, he fled, barely taking heed of his battered, protesting body as he sped upwards, away from them, madness and twisted joy burning bright in his eyes.

_I swallow you whole, you burn inside me. Your blood will run, your flesh will shrivel, your mind will scream, but I will live forever. I am chaos. Follow me down, my friends. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh or any characters described in this fic

**Author notes: **For those of you who are curious, Inanna, the god sworn to by Sin-nasir in Ch. 2 is the Sumerian Goddess of Love and War, also known as Ishtar (yes, you heard right). She is often depicted standing atop a lion holding various weaponry. She is also very commonly featured in most Sumerian folklore. Once again, thanks for the great reviews!

**The River of Thought**

Memorizing the sweeping corridors of the palace was a task relatively simple for a tomb robber. Draped between two guards on his way down to the dungeons, he had feigned weakness so that they would drag him along. Every rise, every dip, every staircase and slope had been thoroughly stored away in his retentive memory for this moment. The periodic brightening of the torches against his closed eyelids had also been carefully counted, such that he knew the exact number of brackets placed at all the levels he had passed. First left, staircase, one flight, another left, gravel flooring, paving stones, two flights and his homing instinct tingled.

On the fourth floor, he heard the heavy tramp of a palace cohort and the clank of spears. He swerved towards the sounds, the torchlight reflecting off the stolen armour adorning his chest and the scuffed leather helm shielding his white hair from view. Bakura grinned. Where was the fun in simply running away?

He encountered the soldiers as he passed the next break in the long corridor he followed. They weren't close, and when viewed from that distance, he easily passed for a battered prison guard.

"In the dungeons! The thief is escaping!" he shouted, before haring off so fast, they could only assume he was going to alert more support. Bakura encountered a few more scattered groups of soldiers as he steadily tracked his way back to the main palace halls. The same ruse worked its magic and he began to sing to himself softly, ignoring his throbbing wounds and exhausted body, his teeth still bared in feral glee. And promptly ran into two young guards. The blood spurted faster than the words left their mouths and they sank to the floor, scarlet air bubbles blossoming out through ruptured tracheas as the final bars of an Egyptian lullaby drifted softly around the corner. _Hush my child, fear no demons, I watch over you tonight. _

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"WHAT?" The roar which escaped the High Priest's chambers could easily have been mistaken for a thunderclap on a stormy summer night. The voice was swiftly succeeded by his imposing figure as he swept out into the corridor, his own guard running to keep up with his long stride.

"Brief me," he ordered curtly, snatching a torch from a wall bracket.

"The thief has escaped, my Lord. He murdered the guards in his cell with the aid of his Ka and broke free. We think he might be heading for the royal quarters."

"That's impossible," grated Seth, "We contained his Ka in our last battle. I visited him myself afterwards and tested it. There is no way he could cause it to physically manifest within that room."

"My Lord, I think you should look at the cell. He could only have used his Ka monster."

The Captain earned himself a sharp, penetrating glance before Seth frowned, relapsing into deep thought. "Escort the Pharoah to the audience chambers and alert the other priests. They need to assemble with him. Double the guard around the royal quarters and send two cohorts out to track him, one from the South Entrance and one from the North."

"It is done, my Lord."

After dispatch of the necessary orders with a swift runner, Seth proceeded with his retinue to the dungeon. He could sense it, almost as soon as he stepped into the corridor. There was something very wrong here, something that hung in the air, even worse than the scent of death. A heavy, musky odour, seductive and choking all at once cloaked the High Priest and his guards as they approached slowly. Seth eyes narrowed as he recognised it. He had caught several whiffs of a similar scent on a previous occasion, distinctive to the Thief's agile, muscular form. His very essence magnified by his Ka, thought Seth, wrinkling his nose in distaste. The Captain flung open the cell door and backed away, his arm over his face and his eyes watering with disgust. Seth lifted the hem of his cloak to his mouth and, despite his strong constitution, turned a shade paler at what lay within.

The smell they had noticed in the corridor outside was drowned by the sheer animal stench within, sweat, blood, faeces, death and, almost perceptibly, fear, hung like a funeral pall within the confined space. The floors were slick with blood, spilled intestines and trampled brain matter. The bodies lay heaped, one over the other like pieces of some gruesome jigsaw puzzle, melded together in chaos. Scarlet arcs were sprayed across the walls from fountaining jugulars and rats had already begun their scavenging work.

Staggering backwards, Seth found himself steadied by a hand in the small of his back. He turned, face pinched and drawn, a terrible anger blazing in his eyes. "I'll find that Ra-damned bastard if it's the last thing I do," he croaked, "And I'll make him suffer before the end."

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Stars reflected in his burning eyes as he raised them to the heavens, joy and freedom and laughter bubbling up in a never-ending fountain of bliss. He was free again, to roam, to steal, to burn and plunder. He laughed silently, brushing off his stinking rats-nest of hair. Now, that would never do. The Thief King must be presentable, he thought, gaily. Passing a dark alley, he pulled the top off one of the drinking-water storage barrels outside a tavern, dunking his head in whole and surfacing, breathing hard and wiping away the caked grime. Somewhat refreshed, he darted furtively through the darkest corners of the city, making a steady line for the docks. Upper Egypt would be stirring like a bee-hive after his escape, and he would not risk any further detection, not while he was still so cursedly weak.

A swift and silent shadow, he passed though the city like a sighing, stealthy breeze. The docks grew ever closer, the gently bobbing shadows of the longboats and river barges and the sound of lapping water reaching his keen ears. He slipped from his crouching position and listened as he heard the distant calls of the Watch Horn sounding, alerting the city to his escape. It was then that he saw the Sumerian slaveship, anchored near the magnificent barge already loaded with stone from the quarries. A few dark figures were moving about on deck, one directing and the others carrying out the preparations for an early morning voyage. A feeble light trickled out from between the planking in the galley below. He smirked. So, they were setting out in the morning for Sumer. The ideal worm to catch, proverbially speaking.

His attention focused on the burly shape standing to one side, now and then giving out hushed orders, one hand placed imperiously on a hip. _Hello there, my plump little saviour_. Edging closer, he was able to travel the length of the upper deck rails, sliding along the side until his hand encountered a make-shift rope ladder. Swinging himself up, he slipped over the rails and darted for the cover of the ship's cabin, the strong scent of tar assailing his nostrils. Just ahead of him, an unsuspecting Sin-nasir lit his pipe and leant over the side, enjoying the Egyptian sunrise.

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The fat merchant smiled smugly. His trading had gone well. Many Egyptian houses of the noble class had admired and complemented him regarding his fine choice of slaves. And all this excluding the hefty pouch of gold sealed in his trunk below decks. A good trading trip indeed. The last preparations had just been completed and he took a few moments to take in his last view of Egypt for that year. And a powerful, rough hand closed around his mouth, dragging him backwards into a pile of sheepskins. A muffled yelp escaped the startled merchant as a smooth, deadly voice murmured close to his ear, "You move and I slit your throat."

He nodded, his head bobbing several times in abject terror as he was harshly spun around to face the one responsible for this sudden ambush. His eyes widened as he took in the bloodstained weapon, the Thief's bruised, bloody appearance, the starkness of his now exposed hair and the madness dancing in his blazing eyes.

"Wha . . .What are . . .?"

"Silence, you fat fool. You will take me on your boat, house me with the other slaves and carry me to Sumer, where you are bound. And," here Bakura dragged the merchant forward till the rolls of his thick neck bulged over the razor edge of the sword, "you will inform no questioners from the palace of my presence, or _I will rip you open and strangle you on own guts_. Understood?"

A weak nod was all the answer he received. "Good. Take me below."

The merchant stumbled out from their place of concealment, his bulky form shivering uncontrollably as Bakura followed, one fist clutching at the back of his voluminous robes. Avoiding the stares of his crew, Sin-nasir smiled painfully in reassurance as he led Bakura below-decks to where the other slaves were housed for the voyage ahead. In the presence of his crew, the merchant regained use of his voice slightly.

"Noble Thief King," he began, and Bakura grinned in pleasure when he realised that he was almost as popular in Sumer as he was in Egypt, "I beg of you, reconsider. This is but a humble slave-ship, not fit to transport one as renowned as yourself. There are women and children on board. Please, grant some mercy."

"As much as I am fond of babies, I must say I prefer them stewed rather than raw," Bakura replied, earning a grimace of horror from Sin-nasir. Honestly. Some people had no sense of humour. Nevertheless, the merchant tried again.

"There are only quarry workers and dancing girls here, not fit company for one such as you. Please, I beg of you . . ."

Bakura interrupted impatiently. "Well then, your quarry workers should be well trained to fetch and carry on my whim. And your dancing girls had better be talented. These long sea journeys tend to get rather tedious. I could do with some _entertainment_."

The merchant shuddered as he watched the Thief King trace his canines slowly and gently with a flickering tongue, a demented smile blossoming in all its burning glory.

"Raise the anchor, my fat friend. I'll be watching."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh or any characters described in this fic.

**Author notes: **In response to reviewer's questions this is NOT a yaoi fic. All characters are present in hetero capacity. Although Bakura displays some sensual tendencies, this is innate in his character :) Thanks for all the great reviews! Much appreciated! Here's the next installment. _Shora_ refers to the headdress worn by Bakura in the series and _calasiri _refers to the robe worn by Ancient Egyptians, generally floor length and open or with a belt to hold the material together.

**The River of Thought**

Sin-nasir was not a brave man. When a deal was to be made, haggling to be done with customers, or large sums of money to be carefully handled, the stout merchant was your man. But place a sword in his hand, or, even worse, turn one upon him and he was rapidly reduced to a miserable, shivering wreck. So Bakura noted, relishing his apple as he allowed his lazy stare to drift across the merchant and the other cowering slaves in the belly of the ship. He had ordered for animal skins and blankets to make himself a bed in a corner, separate from the others. A portion of the ship's stores of food had also been allotted to him. He did not want to draw attention to himself, however, so he had refrained from venturing out of the hold. Even though he was more than a match for every man here, he was wounded, the adrenaline fueling his daring escape wearing off slowly, drawing his attention more and more to the bruises, lacerations and infection rife on his dark skin. He knew that he could not possibly hold off the entire crew should they choose to attack him all at once. _What they don't know can't hurt them. Or me_, he thought with a smirk.

He held the remains of his apple out to a small child slave, of dubious gender, with matted hair and eyes bright with hunger. Watching his face carefully, the child edged forward, hands outstretched and Bakura dropped the core into the waiting palms. He ruffled the child's hair and glanced up at the stricken trader, his slate blue eyes laughing in silent mockery. "Bring me some water, merchant."

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Atem sat back, steepling his fingers as he watched the furious pacing of his High Priest from one end of the conference chamber to the other. Isis and Mahad were seated on his left, Karim and Akunadin on his right. Shada stood behind Mahad's chair, arms crossed, deep in thought.

"High Priest," called Isis softly.

Seth ceased his pacing and whirled on his heel. "I must go after him, my Pharoah. There is no other way."

Atem frowned and motioned for him to sit. Seth obeyed reluctantly, placing his arms earnestly on the table before him.

"I understand the threat to our land, now that he is on the loose again, Seth," said Atem quietly, "But this matter must be discussed thoroughly. I cannot send you straight into a foreign land where I will find difficulty contacting you. Besides that, Egypt's relations with Sumer are tentative at best. We have good trade with them, but they keep their politics distinct and their alliances distant from us. Bakura is as much a threat to the Sumerians as he is to us. They have a right to know the nature of the man amongst their people."

Mahad leaned forward. "My Pharoah, how certain are you that the Thief is bound for Sumer? This may just be a cunning ruse to lull us into a false sense of security."

Atem glanced at Shada. The priest shook his head. "That is true Mahad. But during our search of the city, we came across a witness at the docks who claimed that he spotted a man with white hair boarding a Sumerian slave ship in the early hours of the morning, just after the Watch Horn was sounded. The only ship matching such a description was one owned by the slave-trader, Sin-nasir, who left with the dawn." At this mention of the merchant, Seth's head snapped around. Shada went on, "Sin-nasir was due to hand in his trading permit to the harbour master just before he left. He never appeared. This is not consistent with his previous visits, as the merchant is known to be a stickler for record-keeping. It was also reported that he unlawfully appropriated an extra portion of rations apart from those allotted to him. A complaint was made by the quarry ship owner regarding this."

Mahad looked unconvinced, but Seth was already planning. "I spoke to Sin-nasir just yesterday. What Shada says is true. Bakura is badly injured. There are decrees out offering large rewards for any information regarding him and our soldiers have orders to kill on sight. He is a man without any hope of trial, wounded, alone and with his Ka at minimal strength . . ."

"Minimal?" boomed Karim, interrupting Seth's tirade, "Did you examine that cell carefully? I know what I saw and it did not look to me as if there was anything _minimal_ about what he unleashed on those men."

Seth gave him an icy glare across the table. "Yes, Karim, I scrutinized the cell well enough. Closer than you, apparently. The wounds inflicted on those men were from _weapons_, none of them were created by a Ka monster attack. All of their swords and spears were drawn and bloodied, indicating that Bakura had somehow turned them against each other."

Shada looked up sharply and Mahad turned a shade paler at these words. "Are you sure about this?" asked Isis in a hushed voice.

Seth nodded shortly, turning back to Atem. "My Pharoah, Bakura's Ka may be weakened, but he has certainly never displayed this ability before. Who knows what other terrible secrets and skills he may harbour? We cannot allow him free access to the Sumerian people. Although they are aware of him, they have no concept of how evil and ruthless this man truly is." The bitterness and disgust was undeniably evident in Seth's voice as his clear eyes caught and held each of them, "I beg of you, my King, give me leave to travel in the capacity of ambassador and tracker to Sumer, so that these people know exactly what they are facing and can take the necessary measures to protect themselves."

Atem closed his eyes, indecision and worry passing briefly across his strong, young features. "Seth, what you say is perfectly correct in all honour and sentiment. But do you intend to do this by yourself? I cannot willingly allow you to put yourself at risk." Akunadin, who had been very quiet, raised his head and nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Your Pharoah speaks wisely, Seth. Heed his warning. Will you not take one among us to support you?"

Seth's eyes softened slightly as he turned to his father. Their relationship was not one based on affection, rather on mutual respect and pride. But blood always runs stronger.

"There are many concerns, I am aware of that. However, I am but one man, admittedly, in an important position. It is my duty to my Pharoah, this council, the people of Egypt and Sumer to do this. Consider, my Pharoah. This land needs its priests, its leaders to remain strong and united against foes such as this Thief. If I can at least warn the Sumerian authorities and track him down, you will hear word of it through my regular reports and be assured in the knowledge that I will be surrounded at all times by my most trusted guard. And besides, do you think my abilities lacking?"

Atem looked up and slowly matched the smile of his oldest and most trusted friend. "No, Seth, I do not."

***********************************************************************************************************************************

Bakura stretched out his long legs, tapping his knee in time to the swaying of the dancing girls, teeth gleaming as they swung closer to him. Having furnished himself with a _shora_ and dark green _calasiri_ to cover his hair and injuries, Bakura had proceeded to extend courtesies to the other slaves. Uneducated, and having spent most of their lives confined or in hard labour, most of the younger generation had some vague idea of him being a bandit of some sort. The older slaves were still wary of him. Even in Sumer, tales of the fearless, white-haired Thief King had captured imaginations and created irrational fears in the hearts of the people. However, Bakura, as little as he cared for contact with others, was not referred to as the master of deception for no reason. His charm, good manners and generosity with his food soon had the slaves overcome most of their fear of him and some of the slave-girls had tentatively offered to assist in cleaning and bandaging his wounds.

Comfortable, relatively clean and above all, free, the Thief King was in an indulgent mood. Sin-nasir, however, was deteriorating in fear every day. It showed in his pale, sweating face, the wringing of his hands and the nervous tic in the corner of his eye. Bakura enjoyed this more than anything. The merchant refused to let the Thief out of his sight, spending most of his time in the hold under pretext of sea-sickness. He was rendered helpless as he watched Bakura talk, laugh, flirt and eat, those bottomless, mad, laughing eyes always ready to turn on him and deride his impotence.

Bakura's gaze now swung casually back to the merchant as the dancing girls surrounded him again, the fat, worried face weaving in and out of his vision between the heady billowing of skirts and scarves. _I see you, my unhappy little friend, how you stare, how you wish you could clear them all out so that it could be just you and me. But see how they laugh? How they like me? How their dark eyes brighten when I offer kindness? Do you wish that you had done the same? Do you wish that they trusted you like they trust me? I hold their lives in the palm of my hand, my fat friend. Tread carefully._

And Sin-nasir shivered as Bakura watched him through half-lidded eyes, brushing the silky, dark locks of the swaying dancers as they dipped their heads towards him, a dark smile forming as he gently brushed a curving, bare hip with his lips. Sin-nasir closed his eyes and prayed for morning, the rising of the sun, the sighting of land and escape from the nightmare waiting in the shadows. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh or any characters described in this fic.

**Author notes: **Here's another update. All hail the long weekend!

**The River of Thought**

It was morning on the docks, the first rays of the sun burnishing the sails of the fast sea-going craft Seth had obtained for the voyage to Sumer. The crew had been commissioned from the royal fleet. Preparations for departure had been made some time before, with an impatient Seth stalking to and fro, refusing to rest and driving those he commanded at a frenetic pace. Shada and Akunadin had assisted him, obtaining the necessary travel permits in a fraction of the usual time and sending couriers ahead informing the Sumerian authorities of his imminent arrival such that appropriate quarters could be arranged. Seth's energy was at its peak on this morning, his blue eyes bright, alert and watchful, his clothing immaculate and his Millenium Rod gleaming at its place on his belt. He was ready to track the Thief, to bring him to justice, to oversee his execution once and for all. A call was heard from the deck and Seth strode up the planking, his well-equipped retinue of bodyguards following.

Shada, Akunadin and Isis had come to see him off, each wishing him success with the voyage and mission ahead. He had paused when he came to his father, the elderly man gripping his shoulder hard, not trusting himself to speak. "Be safe, High Priest," was all he managed before Seth nodded slowly, returned the gesture and moved to depart. He watched their figures dwindling in his vision as the vessel's sails were brought down and oars were extended from the ports below deck and the Nile's current carried him further and further away. Akunadin, old and proud, Shada, young and wise and Isis, slender and clear-eyed. His gaze drifted up to the Palace, the last words he had heard from his Pharoah echoing in his mind. _Watch yourself, my old friend. You walk amongst strangers now._

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Ah, Sumer! Land of rolling pastures and rushing rivers, of paddy fields, gaily-dressed peasants and towering ziggurats. The roaring, tumbling, mighty Euphrates carried them from sea-shore to inland greenery, past the turning point of the Tigris, past Kalab and the wading peasants, past Mari and the colourful merchant trains, past the travelling minstrels and their high, clear song. Freedom had never tasted so sweet, life had never seemed so fresh and vibrant to the Thief King when he passed from the slave-ship to the teaming harbours of the coastal village a few miles away from the city of Ur. Sin-nasir had doubled the speed of their voyage, so eager was he to see Bakura off his ship. This provided additional amusement for the Thief. When they reached shore the strain lifted visibly from the merchant's shoulders as he watched Bakura stroll nonchalantly down the gangplank, sending a small, cocky salute in his direction. _From this day forth_, vowed the merchant silently, _I will offer prayers and sacrifice everyday to Enlil, Father of Gods, so that I never have to see that man's cursed face again._

Bakura wended his way through the crowded streets, marvelling at the variety of people, the goods on offer, the mouth-watering smells of food from the various stalls and the raucous calls of Sumerian traders hawking their merchandise to passers-by. He understood enough Sumerian to converse by, and was soon directed to simple accomodation let out by an elderly woman, so deaf and wizened she did not even bother asking his name or occupation, merely tugging insistantly at his sleeve until he handed over the required amount of beaten copper pieces. Those he had obtained easily. It was a crowded street after all.

The small room itself was composed of layered oven-baked clay bricks reinforced with river mud. The conical roof sloped upwards and the right wall adjoined with another room inhabited by a paddy-field worker and his family of six. Noisy, but bearable. Fresh river rushes were strewn across the floor and a sleeping pallet padded with animal skins was wedged into a corner. The pallet was too small for his hefty form and a good portion of his legs dangled over the edge, but he'd slept through worse. There was a furnace for burning firewood, a small consolation for cold nights. Turning over, the Thief King's eyes gradually closed and he rested, his mind fleeing far from deception and revenge, from hatred and sorrow. For the first time in many days, he slept.

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Seth's reception by his official welcoming party could only be described as lukewarm. He really could not blame them. Trouble had etched visible lined of premature worry into all the faces that greeted him, and as the possible harbinger of even more misfortune, he had certainly expected this.

A man he recognised as the Sumerian foreign ambassador stepped forward, offering him a respectful bow. "Greetings, High Priest. I am Ibbin-adad, representative of our city-state. We welcome you to the City of Ur, our prosperous capital, and extend out sincerest hopes that this day finds you in good health."

Seth nodded politely in assent, returned the bows and exchanged various routine pleasantries. He could tell that they were anxious to know the reason for his urgent trip to their lands. "Shall we discuss the reason for my visit and other matters in private?" he suggested, receiving a slightly grateful glance from Ibbin-adad for his straightforward approach.

"Of course, my Lord. We shall escort you and your retinue to your lodgings at the royal court. This afternoon, after you have rested, there will be a conference of certain state officials. Your attendance would be most welcome."

"I will be present, Ambassador."

**********************************************************************************************************************************

Their quarters were nothing short of luxurious, not that Seth paid much attention to such things. His mind was restless and full of theories and questions. He sat, he paced, he stood still and frowned over the sparkling fountain flinging fluid crystals high enough to reflect on his balcony windows. He needed to be careful as to how he presented his suggestions to Ur's royal court.

A bell sounded, signifying the gathering in the private audience chambers. Seth gathered up his reports, the Sumerian script engraved in his own hand, and swept out of the room. He was escorted by his own guard to the exquisitely emblazoned brass doors which stood open as a small, steady stream of Sumerian council members, priests and high officials entered, each giving a respectful bow to acknowledge his presence. There were twenty in all, seated around the conference table, the heavy scent of incense pervading the room from a gilt censer suspended from the ornamented ceiling at the centre. Seth frowned in irritation. He hated incense. It clouded the senses, and, at a meeting like the one at present, he liked to be at his most lucid, monitoring reactions to the things said. Carefully seating himself as far from the fumes as possible, he set his tablets on the table and observed the others present. Ibbin-adad was seated nearby. He caught Seth's eye and inclined his head slightly.

The meeting began with certain trivialities addressing land claims and debates. There was a restlessness in the room and it was contagious. After what seemed to be hours, Seth was given his cue to proceed with his report. He stood, as the others had done, his considerable height and grave demeanour causing instant silence in the hall as all eyes turned on him. "My Lords, I have travelled a considerable distance at great speed to bring you the tidings I now present. Many of you may be aware of the threat posed to the people of Upper Egypt by the outlaw, Thief King Bakura." At the mention of this infamous name, a murmur passed through the room. "Recently, this Thief attempted a direct assault on the royal house of Egypt, our blessed Pharoah Atem. A shadow duel ensued in which Bakura was defeated and much weakened. He was subsequently imprisoned, but, I regret to inform you, the outlaw has escaped our dungeons and is presently, we believe, in or on course for Sumer."

A rumbling was heard throughout the hall as heads were shaken, chairs were scraped across tiles and a lone voice rose above the turbulence. "Why was he allowed to escape? How could your security have allowed this man to break free?"

"My Lord, the best security was provided. Bakura made use of a previously unheard of dark ability to escape confinement."

"Dark ability?" questioned a young priest to his right. "You mean some form of sorcery?"

Seth ground his teeth. "I would not use that particular term, but yes, it was a form of shadow magic."

Another interval of whispered consultation passed around the members of the council.

A pompous voice sounded from the head of the table. "What do you propose to do about this . . . problem? We cannot spare many men in a fruitless search of the entire river valley. I'm sure you are aware, High Priest, of the current threat our city-states face from the Akkadians in the North?"

"I am well aware of that, Lord Susuli," said Seth, recalling the man from a previous encounter, "That is the main reason I attended this council. To inform you that I am here not only in my capacity as Upper Egypt's ambassador, but as a law official to track, capture and imprison this Thief. If I am successful, I will return with him to Egypt where the execution will be carried out immediately."

A thoughtful silence followed this statement. "My Lord Seth," said Susuli after a pause, "I appreciate your enthusiasm for recapture and punishment of this thief, but how can we be assured that you will be _successful_ in your attempts? This bandit has slipped through your fingers more than once, has he not?"

**********************************************************************************************************************************

It had taken much debate, back and forth, and a great show of committment on Seth's part to convince the Council of Ur to agree to his proposition. Seth required every bit of his self control not to threaten them into giving him the right to seek out Bakura. _Wait until he starts here_, he thought bitterly, _I suppose they'll be running to me to find out why I didn't stop him in time. What a bunch of indescisive dawdlers._

"High Priest!" a call interrupted his thoughts. He turned, and seeing Ibbin-adad whom he considered to be the brightest amongst the others, he stopped with a sigh.

Ibbin-adad seemed almost amused at Seth's impatience. "Do not be concerned, my Lord. Most meetings proceed that way."

Seth mouth curved into a small smile. Bright indeed. "No matter, Ambassador. I am a diplomat. Stalling is something even I am skilled at."

They began a slow stroll in the direction of Seth's chambers. The High Priest could sense that there was something on Ibbin-adad's mind. His idea was confirmed when the Ambassador turned to him suddenly. "I am not naive, High Priest. I know that you are aware of the problems our city-states are experiencing."

Seth raised an eyebrow. "You refer to the invasion?"

He received a meaningful look in return.

"Ah. I was wondering when one of you would bring it up."

Ibbin-adad glanced at the floor and lowered his voice. "My Lord, I think it only fair that you are warned. No doubt, you have heard of the "madness" that has befallen certain people in our land?"

Seth nodded, watching the man intently. "I have."

"Then I should tell you something which has not been publically proclaimed. The men who have been . . . affected are all landowners, all of the priest class. I have seen these men. I have attempted to help with treatment, with finding a cure, but to no avail." He raised his eyes to Seth's, and there was a shadow behind his impassive expression, one that could only stem from someone who has witnessed something dark and terrible. He was afraid.

They stopped outside Seth's door and Ibbin-adad laid a hand on his arm to retain him. "High Priest, this search for the outlaw is all well and good. But never neglect your own safety. Not for a second. Those men were once thinking, functioning humans, just like yourself. Nobody knows what happened to them or to what awful place their sanity has fled. And it is spreading. We hear new reports every day. Be careful, my Lord. There is something at work here beyond any of our knowledge. That is my belief."

Seth watched the man disappear down the corridor. His words echoed in the High Priest's mind, his veiled fear. _It is spreading._ For the first time in many years, a shiver passed down Seth's spine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh or the Yugioh characters present in this fic.

**Author notes: **In Sumeria, the priest class handled affairs of land distribution, record-keeping and agricultural practices. They were highly respected and had important roles in city-state decrees and descisions. Just for clarification! Here's another update :)

**The River of Thought**

Bakura awoke to the rooster's crow at dawn, pulling on his robe in defence of the early morning chill and the cloth over his hair, slipping out of the tiny hut and into the streets. Even at this hour, traders were setting up their stalls, arranging their wares and directing the erection of the shaded canopies under which they operated during the day. Nobody paid any attention to him as he searched for an apothecary.

Bakura had resolved to remain in Sumer, possibly visiting the cities of Ur, Lagash and Kish, while he searched for ways to restore his Ka monster's strength. He had a sizeable hoard stashed away at various locations in Upper Egypt, all inaccessible to him now. But there were ways of gathering wealth here. Possibly, Diabound had been temporarily subjected to entrapment within his soul and required some simple practise with the local tombs to regain his power. Bakura knew that _he_ certainly did. The confinement in the palace dungeons and the regular beatings, although short-lived, had certainly taken their toll on his health. _I will bring you back_ he silently vowed to the watcher in his mind, _You shall be as magnificent as you always were, my Diabound. We shall overcome together. Do not fail me._

He found an apothecary and purchased bandages, since washing those he already possessed was out of the question, terribly worn as they were. He also obtained a soothing salve for the various cuts and slight infections to help him sleep less fitfully. Passing through the town, Bakura smiled under his _shora,_ ready to practise his considerable talents once more.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Seth paused in the doorway to his room and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The change in environment meant he hadn't slept well that night. Ibbin-adad's warning had not helped matters. He had initially resolved to track down the merchant, Sin-nasir and question him with regard to Bakura's supposed stowing away on board his ship, but what Ibbin-adad had told him the previous night was playing on his mind. Perhaps clarification was best. Seth made his way though the halls, empty at this early hour, and inquired after the infirmary. He received directions to a separate building, a sprawling four level structure forming part of the ruling family's estate.

Upon reaching the entrance, he bade his bodyguard to wait outside. A young, yellow-robed man, obviously one of the healers-in-training scuttled forward.

"How may I assist you, Lordship?"

"I'm looking for the Ambassador, Ibbin-adad. I was given intelligence that he might be found here."

Another swift bow was his answer as the young healer led him up the broad staircases to the uppermost level of the bulding. A heavily bolted door confronted them and their guide knocked twice. A sliding panel in the door was pushed aside and a pair of eyes appeared, taking them all in. Muffled instruction was heard from within. The sound of many bolts being shot back reached their ears and the reinforced door swung slowly open. Seth stepped in, the immediate smell of illness and deterioration assailing his nostrils. A long, low-vaulted room greeted his eyes as his vision adjusted to the gloom. The air was thick with incense made from healing herbs and each sleeping pallet was occupied by the forms of men, lying at various angles beneath their linen sheets. Lowering his head (his height made it difficult for him to stand upright in the low room) he made his way across to where he spotted Ibbin-adad crouching near one of the reclining shapes.

"Ambassador," he greeted.

Ibbin-adad looked up, and Seth saw that he seemed neither surprised nor disappointed to see him there. "High Priest. I am glad that you decided to grace the infirmary with your presence."

Two stools were provided by the young healer attending them and Seth lowered himself to sit beside his companion.

"See the effects of this strange phenomenon," said Ibbin-adad, gesturing to the man lying on his back before them. Seth glanced at the unmoving form. It was an elderly man, his thick, black hair streaked with grey. His features had obviously held nobility and pride at one stage, and Seth observed the high cheekbones and strong, curved nose, now sunken and yellow as parchment, the imperious, commanding eye that now held a strange, feverish, manic brightness.

"Who is he?" he asked in a low voice.

"This is Inim-shara, once the landlord of a large tract of highly arrable land just outside the walls of Ur. I'm sure you are familiar with the role of the landowner-priests in our society."

Seth nodded.

"A few weeks ago, just as the first cases of the madness were being reported, Inim-shara'a wife begged audience with me, since I am the one controlling the publicity of these attacks on the priest class. She indicated that her husband had left twelve nights ago to gather the production reports of all neighbouring farms under his district. This is a biannual affair and occurs before and after the harvest. Her husband's trip generally lasted a week and he had been overdue for four days. She had heard about the attacks and was worried. I agreed to send out a search party for Inim-shara." He paused and glanced up at Seth. "We found his travelling retinue first, slaughtered to a man. Their bodies were left out for the jakkals with no attempt at concealment. There was no sign of the priest. We searched the surrounding area for days, with still no indication of where Inim-shara had vanished. Our trackers had drawn dead ends at every clue. And then he was returned."

"_Returned_?" said Seth sharply.

"Yes. It had to have been those who took him. He was incapable of movement of any kind, let alone walking. He talked a lot at first. Strange ramblings that went on all day and all night. All we could conclude from the things he said was that he had been captured and made to 'seek enlightenment'. This _truth_ or _enlightenment _he spoke about featured in almost every sentence. And then he stopped speaking altogether. He cannot eat or sleep. He has no conscious mind as far as his symptoms go."

"Do you have records of what he spoke of?"

Ibbin-adad shifted and stared at Seth for a minute, unspeaking.

"Ambassador?"

"Are you sure about this, High Priest? Is this something you want to be involved in? You have an outlaw to capture, and from what I hear, he is a wily and formidable foe."

Seth looked away from him, his gazing settling on the prostrate man on the pallet. "What you say is true. Bakura's recapture is my priority. But in the course of my search, if I come across anything . . ."

"You will inform me," Ibbin-adad completed his sentence for him. "I know. Thank you, High Priest. I will show you the journals we kept of Inim-shara's delirium."

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Bakura hissed in frustration as the drunken man lurched against him, spilling a good portion of his beer over the tomb-robber's knee. "S-Sorry my good men," slurred the inebriate, his gaze fastening on a point some distance over Bakura's left shoulder. Resisting the urge to spill the idiot's guts, Bakura dried the drink on his legs with a portion of his cloak and returned his focus to the cup between his palms. He had ordered a single round, as he always did when scouting out the neighbouring taverns for interesting information and the latest gossip, anything that might be profitable to him. So far nothing had captured his attention. He let his gaze drift across to the other end of the room where it was suddenly arrested and he smirked. _Aha._

Above the noise in the main room, the sounds of a sitar and the melodious tinkle of dancing girl's anklets sounded from one of the private entertainment chambers behind a curtained alcove. Sometimes, the sons of rich merchants and their young friends would pay for these chambers so that raucous celebrations could be held within the privacy of the tavern. Many young, drunken men loaded with gold to throw away on the twirling dancing girls and the many bottles of fine, imported Greek wine. _Perfect._

Slipping from his seat in the corner, Bakura made his way along the wall until he reached the concealed niche. Unnoticed, he pushed the curtain aside gently, picking up a cask of wine from the laden table and snatching a white linen table cloth from the folded pile beside the entrance. The slaves serving the party of happily shouting and dancing young men were all wrapped in white robes.

In a shady corner, behind the decorated screens erected around the room, Bakura shrugged off his _calasiri_, folded the material into a small square and stuffed it into the waistband of his pants against his stomach. Wrapping the linen table cloth around himself in imitation of the other serving slaves, he stepped out of his place of concealment and proceeded seamlessly to the side of the young patron who seemed to have arranged this festivity, replenishing his cup. Although his clothes were a crude representation of the other slave's attire, he passed notice for now as the merrymaking was at its peak. Stooping, he caught sight of a laden purse attached to the merchant's belt by a thin, but strongly cast iron chain. Pouring with one hand, the Thief King gently slipped the fastenings on his victim's belt with experienced fingers. The pouch was safely transferred to the concealment of his voluminous, makeshift robe.

Almost smiling at how easy this was, Bakura made his way around the room, filling a cup here, replacing a fruit bowl there, the satisfying chink of coins growing within his disguise. His stature was easily hidden by hunching over within the table-cloth and nobody paid him any attention.

" . . .it was last week the old man went. Mushtal said nothing about it, but everyone heard his mother wailing at the burial ceremony. About how Mushtal's father lost his mind and died because he forgot how to eat and wipe himself."

A raucous laugh greeted this drunken pronouncement. "He went _mad_?"

"Yes, they found him in the _sewage lagoon _near Lagash."

This statement caused another round of laughter.

"The old man left him good pickings though. Mushtal's got no reason to sulk."

The storyteller snorted. "Good pickings? With _his_ shrew of a mother? She probably buried most of it with him. Enlil knows, it's safer there than in Mushtal's leaky hands!"

Bakura's ears pricked even further. Now here was something beneficial. A little further eavesdropping and it was revealed that the the unfortunate family that had lost its patriarch were of the landowner-priest class and lived in the upper quarter of Ur. The house would be easy for him to find. The mourning markers outside and the attire of all within would give away where the death had occurred.

Bakura lifted his eyes to where one of the young revellers had begun to search for his purse, a frown building slowly above his bloodshot stare. _It's time to take my leave, my generous friends._

Diabound's weakened essence filtered out of his mind as he wound his way skilfully to the middle of the room. The candles began to flicker slightly as he penetrated the circle of dancing girls, pausing directly at the centre of the revelry. And then pitch darkness descended on the room as all light was extinguished in a single, unfelt gust of phantom breeze. Screams and shouts of confusion echoed from all around him as they stumbled over each other, thumps and curses sounding as feet were trampled and bodies tumbled to the floor. Someone crashed into him, clutching at his garment to regain their balance. He reached out and delivered a practised blow to the base of the neck with the serving tray he held. The sharp edge pierced flesh and a body tumbled to the ground at his feet. Slipping off the table cloth, Bakura let it pool on the unconscious form, artfully arranging the tray atop it with a sprig of lavender he had sneaked from a garland and a single coin from the laden purchases at his belt. _This is a fashionable crowd. Might as well try to fit in._

Grinning wildly, the Thief King made his exit just as the lights flickered back into dim life, relishing the screams and loud swearing that echoed from the chamber as the blood on the floor and the missing purses were discovered. _You've been had, my sweet patrons._ _Wait until papa finds out._


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh or any Yugioh characters portrayed in this fic

**Author notes: **Thanks to Sirensbane, pride1289, Ryou verua and Eric's champion for your brilliant, encouraging reviews!! It's wonderful to receive your feedback. Keep reading, I hope :) Here's the next chapter.

**The River of Thought**

The house had been easily found. Bakura had joined a merchant train travelling to Ur from the village where he had arranged temporary lodging. Posing as a young trader in animal skins (these he had purchased with the stolen gold) he had obtained a horse and made a deal with the merchants such that they transported his goods for a fee. Laughing and chatting amiably, Bakura had made a careful assesment of the value of the items being transported. Silk, spices and incense from the East made up the bulk of the merchandise, all sold in small, highly priced quantities. Perfect for one such as himself. The caravan was closely guarded, as expected. _Not too much trouble for me_ he thought with a smirk.

When they reached Ur he had settled his account, taken his goods and departed, doubling back as soon as he was out of sight. The merchant train had stopped at the home of one of the wealthy traders since the security offered was slightly better. Trained dogs and privately hired patrolling guards ensured the safety of the caravans in the yard adjacent to the central courtyard of the house. Bakura scaled the wall lightly, a fleeting shadow in the dark. He had smeared himself liberally with fragrant ash obtained from burnt incense, thus masking his natural body odour from the dogs. The guards were simple. A crude garrotte fashioned from the narrow, strong lengths of iron used in sword-making had done quite an effective job, swift, silent deaths guaranteed. Two were quickly dispatched, their bodies concealed under the caravan. He had to work fast. It was only a matter of time before the dogs sniffed them out.

Leaping up onto the tailboard of the last wagon, Bakura slipped behind the sheepskin flap and proceeded to empty the items of particular value into the sack he had wrapped around his waist. Just as the last chest had been emptied, he heard a shout outside. The bodies had been discovered. Satisfied with his loot, he stood atop a chest, using his dagger to rip open a long tear in the roof of the wagon and climbed out above. The sturdy wooden struts comprising the framework of the caravan provided strong footholds as he passed soundlessly overhead, listening with satisfaction to the sounds of the household being alerted and rushing out into the courtyard to inspect the damage. _Lovely_.

They had left the doors to the kitchen unlocked. Slipping into the house, he methodically bagged the priceless statues of Enlil and Inanna on the mantlepiece, the jewellry boxes in the upper level bedrooms and some expensive looking silk _calasiris_ from the master of the houses's own collection. He needed a change of clothes after all. _And now to find the true treasure trove_ he thought, running his tongue over his lips when he imagined the wealth that awaited in the deceased patriarch's tomb. He was not far now.

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Sin-nasir sat shivering like a melting pile of lard under the High Priest's icy, piercing stare. "So, you let Bakura onto your ship, gave him free passage to Sumer, your _home country_, let him go without informing the authorities and now you have _no idea_ where he might be? Have I heard you correctly?" Seth's voice was hard and cold enough to cut glass.

The merchant raised his hands in despair. "What was _I_ to do?" he wailed, "He threatened me, my crew, my slaves . . . what would _you_ have done High Priest? Thrown away innocent people's lives and sunk the ship at sea?"

Seth was silent and Sin-nasir blustered on. "He became friendly with the other slaves. They trusted him, that accursed jakkal! I could say nothing! There were women and children on board, for Inanna's sake! You know as well as I that he has no regard for human life!"

Seth raised a placatory hand. "Quiet, Sin-nasir. I am fully aware of the danger he poses. I apologize for implying that you could have stopped him. In fact, I would strongly advise against such an attempt. But it still does not explain why you chose to inform nobody that a serious threat to the public had been brought here on board _your ship._"

The merchant mumbled miserably. "I was . . .afraid." He lifted haunted eyes to Seth. "Do you know what it's like, seeing him, being near him? You feel powerless, terrified, like everything is slipping out of your control. I . . ." his voice broke and he breathed deeply, continuing, "I feel as if he knows everything. That he'll know that I told you and he'll come for me now that I have."

A trickle of pity infiltrated the High Priests mind. He was aware of the feeling Sin-nasir spoke of. No matter what they prepared, how much they planned, how many lives were sacrificed in doing so, the Thief King always appeared to be one step ahead. _You battle an true agent of Chaos. What makes you think you can win?_ a small voice spoke in his mind. Seth brushed it off as soon as it occurred. He would not fall prey to superstitious nonsense. Bakura was a man, like any other. Similarly, he could die like any other.

His train of thought was interrupted by a breathless courier who barged into the room, neglecting to knock. "What is the meaning of this . . ." Seth, irritated, rose from his seat.

"Lordship!" the courier interrupted, "Ambassador Ibbin-adad sent me . . .there's been another attack! He calls for your presence in the outer courtyard immediately!"

Seth snatched up the cloak hanging off his high-backed chair and swept out of the room, the merchant's nervous gaze following him. Curtly beckoning to his bodyguard to follow, Seth made his way out to where Ibbin-adad waited with his own retinue of scouts, soldiers and healers. Without pause and a simple nod as way of greeting, they mounted the horses provided and wheeled out of the courtyard. A steady gallop was maintained and Seth noticed that they were heading away from the city centre to one of the outposts in the surrounding countryside. When the party was forced to slow down due to a river-ford Seth found time to question Ibbin-adad.

"Where did it happen?"

The Ambassador's face was grave. "They're getting bolder. The attack was made directly on the estate of the victim. Maru-yatum was dragged out of his own front door, his house set ablaze and his livestock killed or released into the surrounding area." He paused, squinting his eyes against the sun. "His son was killed in the fire. The rest of his family managed to escape relatively unharmed, thankfully."

Seth eyes narrowed. These events were beginning to take their toll on his conscience, even though the investigation was not his responsibility. He pondered for a moment as to why they caught at him on such a profound level. Perhaps it was that these men were also of the priest class, learned and established men who were stripped of their sanity, livelihoods and identity all in one dire moment. Perhaps it was the families that were left to salvage what they could from the ruins, who had to wait hand and foot on loved ones who were once so lucid and full of life. Perhaps it simply called to his humanity, the same feeling that had driven him to seek out and punish Bakura for his atrocities against the people of Egypt. Whatever the cause, he felt obligated somehow, to offer whatever assistance he could while his stay in this troubled country lasted. Ra knows, they would need it before long. At his side, Ibbin-adad remained grim and unspeaking. _I know what it is you feel. This helplessness. You may seek, you may find clues, but it will never be enough. They are your people, they are under your protection. Who do they have if not you? I know what it is to be afraid, to fail at the thing you do . . ._

***************************************************************************************************************************************

_For aeons she had lain in wait for this, this feeling of elation, of completion. Never had one called to her so strongly, so tantalizingly. For many years the people of this land had recognised her, fear, hatred and repulsion ultimately shaping her form. She had never disappointed, oh no. She always ensured that they caught a glimpse of exactly what they were afraid of, what they expected and more. _

_And then they began to forget. As the world changed so did they, complacent in their little communites and then their big cities and towns. She had been insulted at first, as their fear decreased from one generation to another. Retaliation had seemed the only option to her then. Her fabled penchant for infants and pregnant mothers soon regained their attention. She could taste the fear, bitter as bile, whenever a new child was born, espacially in the families she had targeted before. She revelled in it, feeding off their anger, their terror, as a child suckles at its mother's breast. _

_But, as it was those many, many ages ago, it did not satisfy. There was a gaping tear somewhere inside her that had given way to violence as time passed, so different from that first wrench she had felt when she beheld the joy of another in their newborn. Sometimes it caught her off guard. She would rage and storm, angered by her weakness, twisting her monstrous shape out into the night to hunt and returning to her lair with her appetite temporarily sated. _

_Nobody would find her here. She knew that. A man had been entombed here once, in a time long past. He had been one of her more repeated victims. He had a beautiful young wife, six healthy children. No fear pervaded their household. And her envy, her hatred, grew with every passing day as she watched in the shadows. She took the son first, a healthy baby boy. And laughed and clapped in glee when she saw the sickness, the shock, the misery. But more time passed, healing their wounds. They had another child, another son. And she struck again. This time she left a sign, her sign, so they knew it was her. She watched them fade, watched the life leach from them in their despair. She made her lair under his tomb, so that she could bathe in the delight of her power over them. And she revelled. But always that gaping maw within, ready to consume her . . ._

_A house had been built over the tomb now. A wealthy merchant and his family. The son was too old, too greedy the wife too wizened and miserly for her interest. But the merchant came home oneday and he was not the same. Her ears pricked, her mouth watered when she sensed the thing which ate his mind, which drove him further and further away into the unknown every day, away from his family. And she came alive again, she hunted again. The merchant had been buried in a tomb constructed over her old conquest. And then __**he**__ came._

_It could not be coincidence. She did not believe in coincidences any longer. He was strong, wild, cunning, a thing untamed. She sensed his presence approach from afar, never recognizing this feeling for what it was until he set foot on Sumer's shores. He was darkness, he was delight, tendrils of madness clinging to his mind, hands steeped in blood, his eyes aflame with fervour that caught and twisted at her heartstrings. His desire for revenge, his hatred, called to her, set her aflame with want that was sweeter than nectar and harsher than acid. She watched him, enchantment growing as he bypassed the tomb's protections and sanctity spells with practised ease, crushing their sacred seals with a callousness that made her shiver in ecstasy. A powerful soul this one possessed, at full strength, perhaps even mightier than her. But it was cast away in obscurity. She leered as she probed deeper. If he knew . . .but maybe she could use this as a bargaining chip. _

_His hair gleamed white in the dancing shadows that threatened to swallow the pool of light cast by his torch. He was deadly, he was perfect. Claws scraped across putrid skin and flesh and a blackened tongue flicked out against gaping, bestial lips as her mouth opened wide in a silent call of longing. _

_You will heed my commands because only I can give you what you seek. You will be my guide, you will lead me to the power I desire. I will make you mine, beautiful thief, forever and ever and ever. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh or any Yugioh characters depicted in this fic

**Author notes: **I have posted some links in my profile that indicate the mythological basis for certain aspects of this story. Please feel free to check them out, if you are interested :)

**The River of Thought**

All was quiet except for the distant, plaintive wailing of the mourning family. Floating ash from the charred ruins of the once extensive farmhouse drifted across Seth's vision as he spurred his horse forward. It was truly destruction in the worst sense. Ibbin-adad dismounted some way ahead of him and he followed suit, leading his horse onto the property as a show of respect. The family had been temporarily housed at a neighbouring outbuilding, generally used for grain storage after the harvest was complete. Wood and glass crunched beneath their feet as they approached the main entrance, a dark, gaping, ragged-edged tear where the door had been ripped off its hinges.

Seth felt it the minute he stepped into the soot-blackened room. It was faint, only traces left behind after the hours it had taken them to arrive. He ran his fingers over the doorframe, the walls, traced his foot across the floor. _Yes, unmistakeable_. Ibbin-adad had advanced further in and was kneeling beside a dark smudge on the once pristine floorboards. Seth joined him and he pointed without looking up.

"This is where his son died trying to stop them."

"Ambassador, some form of shadow magic was used here," said the High Priest, quietly.

Ibbin-adad's head shot up, a dark look in his eyes. "Do you think Bakura . . .?"

"No." Seth shook his head firmly. "These attacks started long before the Thief made his appearance. Since we can account for all of his movements up until now, it's highly unlikely that he was involved. Besides, he would only strike in this manner if there were considerable wealth to be gained. But I felt the remnants when I came in here. Somebody has definitely been using something related to the magic we in Egypt use to summon shadow beasts."

A frown of consternation creased the Ambassador's forehead. "But that leaves only the Priest class. Why would they attack their own?"

"The Priest class is divided into factions here," said Seth slowly, "It is not entirely correct to group them all together. You yourself indicated the land debates and claims made between the various city-states."

Ibbin-adad looked unconvinced. "But High Priest, these contentions between the city-states are not serious enough to warrant such bloody and devastating reactions. There have been small skirmishes in the past, but those were generally of a personal nature. Clans used the land-debates as an excuse for settling vendettas."

"Maybe something similar is happening here," said Seth doubtfully. He stood suddenly, examining their surroundings with renewed interest.

"What is it?" asked Ibbin-adad, quickly following suit.

"The other priests who were attacked . . .what was their financial standing? Were they well known in the community?"

The Ambassador looked at him curiously. "Well, it varied. Inim-shara was an extremely successful land-owner. He had a great deal of wealth. The others were of average status. They all owned tracts of land, but not enough to cause disagreements."

Seth nodded. "This Maru-yatum, however. He doesn't seem to be particularly wealthy. He has a farmhouse instead of the usual estate house. He has few slaves to assist him with the crops. He owns a small portion of land, hardly profitable, but enough to make ends meet. What possible reason could they have for targeting him?"

Ibbin-adad bent his head in thought. "Maru-yatum was a renowned scholar . . ." he said.

"A scholar? Of what?"

"Of interpretation of religious texts. He also transcribed popular myths into tablet form, such that they could be copied and the people have better access to them."

"I see. So he was a learned man," Seth paused and turned towards the outbuilding where the mourning rose in a keening crescendo. "I think we should question the family."

**********************************************************************************************************************************

Bakura had struck gold. Literally. This was obviously one of the wealthier families. Although the valuables stored with the body of the patriarch occurred mostly in perishable forms, such as expensive cloth, incense and spices, there was more than enough here to allow him to live in luxury for a year. Small jade, onyx and mother-of-pearl figurines of Sumerian deities, priceless jewellry studded with rubies, amethyst and sapphires, strings of imported freshwater pearls, gold leaf and ivory-inlaid caskets filled with small, handcrafted, crystal bottles of scent all jostled for room in his already crowded bag.

To say that Bakura prided himself on his considerable skill as a thief was something of a gross understatement. There was nobody who could rival him in terms of speed, strength, agility and cunning. Thus it was that no matter how illustrious the booty, there was always one eye on the escape route, a sixth sense which had lent him the advantage on numerous occasions. He felt rather than saw her coming, spinning around, the loaded sack dropping to the floor as two weighted throwing knives arced in silver blurs to where she had been but a moment before. He dropped to the floor and rolled as twisting tendrils of a dark substance coiled outwards from her shadowy form and attempted to wrap around his wrists and ankles. The gleaming blade of a scimitar flashed in the half light as Bakura slashed at her, dancing just out of her reach. He narrowed his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature's shape, only distinguishing the large silhouette of considerable bulk in the growing shadows enveloping her form.

_Diabound_ he hissed in his mind, _come to me, I need you now!_ The insipid essence of his Ka monster swirled into existence at his side, wispy claws striking out, inflicting little damage on the thickening strands of darkness convoluting around his retreating form. Cursing his bad luck, Bakura snatched up his sack of loot and raced for the entrance, gracefully dodging the debilitating tendrils, now growing in strength and rapidity. He was certainly not expecting the large, sinewy arm, covered in coarse hairs, that wrapped around his waist and began to drag him back within the tomb. Something flexible and strong encircled his ankles as he thrashed powerfully, but fruitlessly in the monstrous grasp. Grasping his concealed dagger, he plunged it deep into the scaly, flaking skin below, earning a sharp hiss from the creature's mouth. Talons of considerable length dug into his side, almost crushing his ribcage. Gasping, he twisted in increasingly frantic movements, dragging the knife upwards through flesh as the pressure grew.

_Don't fight, my sweet bird_. Bakura almost stopped struggling when he heard that voice echo through the gloom. _I mean you no harm. Let me show you, lovely Thief. _

Worse than the sound of shattered bone grating together, hoarse as a saw against metal, the vilest crooning Bakura had ever heard in all his years filled the small space. Abruptly, a claw pinned down his leg whilst another turned his body to face the beast which had spoken. Eyes widening in shock, Bakura felt a shudder of horror course down his spine when he beheld the creature that had maneuvered itself into the flickering light cast by his abandoned torch. Diabound vanished and a terrible chuckling greeted his expression as the repulsive face was lowered until it hovered a few inches above his. The reek emanating from the gently parting lips was incredible. _What's the matter, little one? Am I not . . .beautiful?_

A note of mock sadness crept into the voice as Bakura thrust his head away violently, lips curling upwards in the snarl of a caged and bound tiger. _Is that any way to treat the one who will help you? Who can give you exactly what you desire?_

A stream of choice profanities escaped the captive's lips as he snapped viciously at the cold talon that stroked the side of his face. Another spine-chilling laugh ghosted grotesquely against his ear. _My, my, quite the fighter, aren't you, sweet one?_ _But no matter. You _will _trust me in time. I will not release you until you have heard my . . .proposition._

"I want nothing from you, you Ra-damned bitch!" spat Bakura, eyes blazing with madness and fury, "Let go of me or I swear, _by Anubis_, I'll spill your guts and choke you with them!"

He was answered with a light sigh. _But my love, that would not be any fun. And besides, have you forgotten who holds_ you_ captive, or need I remind you?_ The claws dug painfully into his side again, this time puncturing skin and drawing blood. Giving no sign of pain, Bakura lay still, shooting her a glare potent with undisguised hatred. _That's better. I wouldn't want to hurt you too badly, beautiful one. _The long, blackened tongue shot out and lapped up the blood, tracing the contours of his chest and lavishing odious caresses down to just above the top of his belt. Bakura suppressed another shudder of repulsion as she looked up at him, the slanted yellow eyes rimmed with scabs and drooping flesh, filled with an unholy desire and amusement. His breath caught as a strange sensation sang though his body, flaming throughout his system as the split ends of skin knitted together, mending the fresh wounds in an instant. Her sly gaze followed his eyes as they travelled down his own form, relishing his concealed surprise. He could sense her power, capricious, wild, far more ancient than the shadow magic practised by himself and the nobility of Egypt. _What is she?_

_I am Dinne_ she said, almost as if she had read his thoughts, _At one time, the people of this land called me Lamashtu. I am here to offer you my help._

"What makes you think I need your _help_?"he sneered.

She smiled, revealing her row of large, plate-like teeth, strong enough to crush bone. _Oh, my lovely, bitter thief, I know all about your . . .what do you say? Soul monster?_

Bakura stiffened in her grasp and she chuckled in satisfaction. _I always know. You want to bring him back, do you not? You want him to be powerful once more so that you can exact your revenge . . . I can help you. I can return him to full strength . . ._

Bakura gave a mirthless laugh. "And for what price, demoness? My soul, no doubt. Do you take me for a fool?"

_Indeed, I have a price. But certainly not one beyond your means . . . or skills. _As she had planned, this caught his full attention.

"You would have me steal something, then?" The disdain was etched deeply into his voice. Lamashtu smiled. This one had more guts than all the rest of her victims through the ages put together. Nobody else had dared mock her when they were so completely at her mercy.

_Indeed. But this is no ordinary item I would have you obtain. It is one of immense power. If I had this, I could fully restore your soul monster. _

She was answered by a bitter laugh. "That would be wonderful demoness . . .if your claims had the slightest shred of credibility."

He winced as her claws pierced him again, in exactly the same positions as before, only deeper. His mouth opened to taunt her again, but he was cut off by his own astonishment as Diabound poured unbidden from his mind, and, just for an instant, he felt a river of strength flow into his Ka, deepening the shadows around them, filling him with more life, hope and power than he had felt in a long time. As quickly as it had come, he was cut loose from the glorious outpouring of dark energy.

_You see, my love, what we will acheive together if you bring me but this one thing?_ The Thief King watched her, the oozing eyes gleaming and the sore specked lips curving upwards in delight as she read the reluctant answer in his eyes. And Lamashtu's laughter filled the tomb once more.

***********************************************************************************************************************************

"I . . .I didn't get a good look. They were all hooded. Robes, grey robes, that is what I remember."

Ibbin-adad nodded encouragingly at the terrified young slave clutching a ragged balnket around herself to protect her exposed flesh from the afternoon chill. The family had proved to be in no condition to coherently answer any questions regarding the attack on Maru-yatum, thus they had resorted to asking the slaves who had been present at the time. Ahasunnu, the girl who had been helping in the kitchen when the strange assault had occurred proved a nervous, but lucid enough witness.

"What did they do?"

"The man at the front blasted the door open. They surrounded the house . . . the Master shouted at us to run for the back entrance, but when we got there, they were coming from that way too. I saw them . . .they used sorcery to bind his hands and feet and they dragged him out. They were shouting something about serving the Enlightened One." She paused again, shutting her eyes tight against the terrible images she was conjuring for them.

"You're doing well," said Seth, "Please continue."

"The young Master ran out after them. He tried to stop them . . . they shot strange bolts at him and he fell where he stood. We . . .we didn't know that they'd set the house on fire so we stayed inside. And then they broke the windows and threw in the torches . . ." The girl's resistance crumbled and she lowered her head to a blackened palm, sobbing raggedly.

Ibbin-adad placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, gripping firmly. "Thank you."

When she had been taken away, the Ambassador turned a troubled face to Seth. "The Enlightened One?"

The High Priest was staring into the dark doorway of the house. Although it was impossible, he almost fancied he could see the scratches inflicted by desperate nails, clinging to the wooden frame as a body was dragged out into the night, into the unknown. Shaking himself out of his uncharacteristic reverie, he turned to Ibbin-adad.

"Do you think this is why they took him? So that he could assist them in their 'search for enlightenment'?"

Ibbin-adad looked slightly startled. "So you're suggesting some group of religious fanatics?"

"It's certainly possible. The other men were all well-educated, of high standing in society and with a certain amount of experience in priestly duties besides their land-ownership skills. Since wealth is obviously not the connecting factor, perhaps it is this?"

Ibbin-adad let out a long, slow breath. "Dear Inanna, let it not be so."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, any Yugioh characters portrayed in this fic or 'Lamashtu'.

**Author notes: **Once again, thank you for the great reviews!

**The River of Thought**

Gasping, he surfaced, the icy water temporarily robbing him of breath. After she had touched him, stroked him, ran her repulsive tongue over his flesh, he had felt the irrational desire to be clean once more, to shed her foul essence from his skin. He had returned by horse to the village where his lodgings were situated immediately after his encounter with Lamashtu. There, he had proceeded to hawk the valuables looted from the patriarch's tomb, obtaining the desired prices more through threats than bargaining skill in his impatience. The dip in the stream that ran parallel to the old woman's lodging house was purely impulsive, more for mind-cleansing purposes than the desire to be physically clean.

Climbing out onto the bank, he shook the water vigorously from his shaggy hair, re-tied his _calasiri_ and replaced the _shora._ Just as he was slipping on his shoes, a nervous voice spoke from further up the slope.

"Good master, please help me."

Bakura looked up, noticing a pretty, young woman standing above, her entire posture betraying her worry.

"What do you want?" he asked brusquely.

"Please . . . I have lost my son. I . . .I cannot find him, I've looked everywhere. He has been gone for hours . . ."

Bakura snorted and resumed his dressing. "I've seen no boy. Now leave me be."

"Please . . .he is just a child. My husband is not due back for many days yet. I beg of you, help me."

Her eyes were now swimming with unshed tears. Bakura glanced at her in irritation as he climbed the bank. "Look, woman, I have a long trip ahead. I cannot spare valuable time looking for a stray child." He had not been expecting her to drop to her knees and clutch at the hem of his robe in a convulsive grasp. Her control had obviously deserted her in raw panic.

"I will do anything, I swear it! Only help me this once, I beg you, kind master! He is only a child . . ."

He pulled her up by the arm, none-too-gently. "Stop your wailing, stupid girl!" He shook her to emphasise his point. "How do you expect to find your child if you sit around here _crying_ all day?"

He recognised her now. She was the wife of the paddy field-worker who lived in the rooms adjoining his. The woman was so startled that she paused for a minute, gasping for breath.

"I . . .I . . ."

"Silence!" he hissed, "Tears are for the weak. They solve nothing!"

Surprisingly, she attempted to compose herself with titanic effort, large gulps distending her throat. "My son went missing this morning. He . . . goes to get milk from the vendor a few doors away. I thought he was out . . . playing with the other children, but he . . . he never came back."

A strange feeling twisted in Bakura's stomach. On his way back from Ur, a few subtle queries and a purchased tablet of 'historical tales' had enlightened him as to the nature of the demoness with whom he made a regrettable deal. Lamashtu was renowned for her bitterness, due to her inability to have children, and thus unleashed her fury on the people of Sumer by stealing away infants, small children and even heavily pregnant mothers and devouring them. _This is no coincidence_ he thought, glancing at the stricken mother. _This is her sign, her reminder. She desires control. She will not let me go and she watches . . . _

With a sense of fatality, Bakura knew that the young woman would never see her son again. Turning to her, he spoke. "Go back and search your house thoroughly. I will go over the neighbouring fields, very quickly, for I am a busy man. Do it, now! You have wasted enough of my time!"

"Thank you, kind master," she whispered, and Bakura did not miss the flash of hope in her eyes. She was about to run back indoors when a strong hand arrested her passage. Looking back, she saw that the tall man's strange eyes were not on her, but on the string of small, grubby faces peering curiously at them from the doorway. There was an undefinable expression there, one she could not read.

"Master . . .?"

His gaze focused slowly on her. "You have many other children, girl. Keep close watch on them." Releasing her abruptly, he turned on his heel and disappeared back around the corner of the lodging house. The young mother stared after him, raising a hand to her damp face. For a moment, so rapidly she could not even tell whether it had really occurred or not, she had felt a rough finger touch her forehead.

_Watch over them, mother. That is your duty, above all others. I cannot bring back what you have lost, but I can remind you, because I will never heal. _

***********************************************************************************************************************************

Seth tugged irritably at the light linen hood over his low headdress, offering him scant protection from the chilly evening breeze as his bodyguard accompanied him through the emptying streets. Last night had proved to be another sleepless affair, disruptive dreams being the main cause of his fatigue and restless mood. The extensive search for Bakura he had undertaken, in-between his assistance in the investigation of the missing priests, had drawn conclusive dead-ends and the reports he had formulated for the perusal of his Pharoah were far from positive. And then this tip-off. Someone had brought to his attention a robbery at a tavern in a neighbouring town which, to him at least, had reeked of Bakura's despicable, but considerable thieving skill.

Thoughts drifting slightly, as they waited for a merchant to cross over the street with his extensive baggage train following, he recalled the journal kept of Inim-shara's erratic delirium. The entries were recorded regularly in a neat, precise hand, offering descriptive footnotes at the end of each tablet. The ramblings had lent more and more weight to Seth's theory of the maddened priest being abducted by some religious faction. _The brothers seek the truth, they all come to see me . . .I have no family, but one . . . We worship as one . . .We seek the Enlightenment . . ._

Furthermore, there were certain entries which indicated something of a more precise nature. _They bring me water, no food . . . I hurt . . . I read the things they ask . . . they bring me more . . . I read and I fall . . . _

It was almost as if whatever it was they had given this man to read had caused his descent into insanity. _Impossible,_ thought the High Priest. _What could be so terrible? What was this Enlightenment?_

His thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the arm from the soldier beside him. Nodding, he continued along his path toward the tavern he had been directed to. It was something of a seedy affair on the outside, successfully disguising the clientele that frequented the private rooms. Seth made this inference when his observant glance happened to fall on the edge of an expensive material projecting from beneath the rough cloak of the person before him. Making his way carefully to the counter, only a single member of his bodyguard following to avoid undue attention, Seth tapped the rough surface to receive service. A curtain lifted, giving him a brief glimpse of an opulently decorated room behind, and a thin, heavily bearded man appeared, his dull eyes flitting over Seth's appearance with a practised glance.

"One of the private rooms?" he asked before Seth had a chance to speak.

"No, thank you. Are you the owner?"

"What of it?" A flicker of suspicion.

"I'm here on behalf of the city-state council to inquire about a robbery."

A glimmer of amusement now showed as the man looked at him with renewed interest. "You won't find who did it, you know. We were crowded on that particular day."

"I'd like to speak with you all the same," persisted Seth.

The owner shrugged. "As you will. I can't be too long though, customers to attend to." He lifted a jointed partition in the counter-top and beckoned for Seth and his man to follow.

"You're name, good sir?" asked Seth as they were led into the room behind the curtain and seated in low, plushly cushioned chairs.

"I am Dur-rimush. The robbery you are referring to took place a week ago."

Seth nodded. He felt distinctly uncomfortable in the low chair which forced his long legs upwards until his knees were nearly on level with his chest. "Whereabout did it happen?"

"In one of our hired rooms. A merchant's son and his friends were having a small festivity, just some wine, music and dancing girls. In the midst of it all, the torches died out. Lots of confusion, obviously. And somebody snatched their purses in the dark. Quite a large sum, which I wasn't informed of, naturally. And one of the young fellows passed out on the floor with a nasty cut to his head." 

"Did anybody see anything unusual? Someone who wasn't supposed to be there?"

Dur-rimush shook his head. "They wouldn't have noticed. None of the slaves serving them did."

"How were the purses stolen?"

"The thief slipped the fastenings on their belts. Of course, some of the fools had their's loose to throw coins to the dancing girls."

Seth glanced at him curiously. "Aren't you concerned that your business will suffer now that a robbery has occurred?"

Dur-rimush shrugged nonchalantly, baring yellow teeth in a crafty smile. "Not many are aware. Those young men wouldn't want to relive _that_ incident, oh no. And besides, there's no other tavern for miles which can offer the same quality of service that I provide."

"I'm sure," muttered Seth. "Was there anything distinct about the robbery?" He knew that Bakura liked his finishing touches. The abomination had perfected his skills to something bordering on an art-form.

"Now that you mention it . . ." Dur-rimush, paused, looking thoughtful, "There was a table-cloth draped over the unconcious boy's body. And on top of that a fruit platter with some lavender and a coin." He frowned. "Don't ask me, I've no idea what that signifies."

Seth felt his blood begin to boil. _That insolent bastard, he knew I'd come looking for him! _Standing abruptly, he gave a stiff bow to the tavern owner. "Thank you, Dur-rimush, that will be all."

***********************************************************************************************************************************

Out in the street, Seth took a moment to cool his inflamed nerves. He would not give Bakura the satisfaction of losing his cool over this twisted attempt at humour. He was about to turn back up the street with his bodyguard in tow, when a man whom he recognised as one of his own soldiers came haring towards them from the opposite direction, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"High Priest! I heard shouts and went to investigate, there's another attack a few doors away!"

Without waiting to hear another word, Seth broke into a run, freeing the Rod from his belt. The soldiers hot on his heels, Seth followed the direction indicated. Soon, the hoarse shouts of a single man and the raised voices of a group of men reached his ears. In swift formation, Seth's bodyguard surrounded him, spears held outwards at the ready as they advanced.

The scene which greeted them caused Seth's eyes to widen slightly. A man was being pinned up against a wall, swirling bands of darkness surrounding his wrists and ankles, holding him immobile. His robes, clearly marking him as of the landowner-priest class, were in disarray, rips and tears at his bleeding elbows and knees. A group of hooded men in grey were gathered around him in a semi-circle, one of them stepping forward and stuffing a crudely fashioned gag between his teeth.

All those days of fruitless searching, of dead ends and faceless nightmares, and now this, right within the supposed safety of the town where the people were too afraid to step outside their houses and do something about the screaming . . . Seth's rage boiled over again.

"Now!" he roared, watching with satisfaction as the hooded ring of men fell back in alarm at his shout, how they stumbled over each other in their eagerness to escape the sharp stab and slash of the spears and swords sweeping and thrusting into their midst. Seth raised the Rod before him, shadows unfurling at his feet as, one by one, the cloaked men fell beneath his influence. They dropped to the ground, some of them kicking and jerking convulsively as they attempted to fight the shadow magic with an energy of their own. Triumphantly, Seth moved forward, a screeching wind tugging at the roofs overhead as he watched their eyes, the whites showing in terrified rings as the darkness summoned by the Millenium Rod began the tortuous engulfment of their souls.

"High Priest!" came a shout to his left and he jerked his head around in horror as one of his own soldiers was struck down from behind with a dark bolt of substance. In that instant, realization hit him. _Fool! Fool! You Ra-damned fool!_

"It's a trap!" he yelled, "Fall back! Fall back!"

Swinging the Rod in a tight arc, he aimed at the dark shapes seeming to detach from every corner. "_Bring him down! In the name of the Enlightened One!_" The booming chant echoed from every throat as they bore down upon him, blasting at his summoned shadows with surprising strength. Seth buckled under the strain, the glow from the Rod forming a brilliant, desperate globe around his struggling form.

"_Bring him down!_"

_Impossible, _he thought, as black specks tugged at his vision, _So many . . . Why does nobody come?_

A final crushing blow and he sank to his knees, the shadows cast by his flaming Rod flickering out of existence.

"_In the name of the Enlightened One!_"

_You won't have me . . .never you . . ._

"_Bring him down!"_

Ibbin-adad received the tidings where he sat in the infirmary, squinting in the dim light so that he could read his copy of Inim-shara's journal. He looked up, dread filling his mind at the fearful eyes of the messenger and the soiled, azure headdress on a cushion in his hands.

"My Lord . . . The High Priest . . . he was taken."

The clay tablet shattered as it fell from limp fingers. Ibbin-adad stared blankly ahead, his last hope for the salvation of his people vanishing in the endless shadows ahead.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, the Yugioh characters depicted in this fic or 'Lamashtu'

**Author notes: **The constructive feedback I have received from all reviewers is amazing! Thank you very much!!! A note, this chapter is far more introspective.

**The River of Thought**

The song and splash of the paddy field-workers, the hum of dragonflies, the all-pervading warmth of the sun and the steady lift and drop of his horse beneath him all formed welcome travel companions as Bakura navigated the winding dirt road away from Ur. The monotony of the journey somehow helped alleviate the ever-so-slight nagging feeling at the back of his mind as to the wisdom of his deal with Lamashtu. The missing child was aggravating his conscience more than it should. _The demoness chose to take, I simply chose to be there._

_And yet . . ._ he thought back to their meeting, how she had pressed the imperative nature of his task onto his mind. _There was no need for what she did. And of that, she is fully aware . . ._

She had imparted to him the location of the item she wished him to bring to her. His destination lay further north, deep in the cedar forests where he needed to find an isolated ziggurat erected in the honour of Nergal, Sumerian God of the Underworld. The landmarks she had provided and his own tracking skill would be enough to get him there, the concern lay in what would happen after. Would she keep her end of the bargain? He knew that she was fully capable of restoring his Ka to full strength, but she was ancient, she was cunning. He had never kept his word in any agreement he had undertaken, and he knew that she had read it in his eyes.

If he could but grasp that elusive answer, unlock the door that held Diabound so maddeningly at bay, he would not need her. Fleeting as his moment of glory had been when she had flooded his Ka monster with his old power, he knew that this would not be a simple matter of retreiving an artifact. _But the origin, where this all started . . .the duel._

Oh, that he remembered well. _So close . . .so very, very close he had been. The Pharoah had been no match for him. As his hatred grew, so did Diabound's strength, his rage. And then, the High Priest . . ._

Bakura ground his teeth, eyes gleaming with wild fury. He recalled the words that had been spoken, the supercilious tone, the condescension and the righteousness in that aristocratic face, the cold, hard eyes.

_This land has been tormented long enough by your self-serving, twisted sense of justice, Thief. Your people have perished long since . . . they are dead and gone. There is nothing you can do, no atrocity you could commit, no pain you could cause, that will ever bring them back._

He closed his eyes, the reins etching deep ridges in the fleshy portion of his palm. _You bring suffering, agony and fear. Do you think they are proud?_

His own voice, sibilant with suppressed anger. _You think my people's souls are at rest? Ha! You know nothing, you _are_ nothing, High Priest. You are the child of a nation born in guilt, the slave of a monarch whose hands are steeped in the blood of my people . . ._

_Do you hear yourself, Thief?, _strident and fearless, _You are a monster, a man with a soul so profoundly evil that even the Millenium Scale could not measure the extent of your depravity and wickedness! And you dare insult my Pharoah, the most honourable man in this land?_

_Honourable? A man who was born to a murderer? _

_Bakura! _The Pharoah had cut in, raising his arm, one finger extended to pin him down, _I cannot answer for what has happened to your people, Thief, that knowledge is beyond me. But I have offered compensation on the numerous occasions we have had confrontations . . ._

_Compensation! Ha! What do you take me for, Pharoah? Do you hear them? The ghosts of Kul Elna? I do. I fulfil their desires, I am their emissary. Diabound is fueled by their need, my need. You will not defeat us . . . _

_Enough!_ Standing tall, command radiating from every limb, Seth had ordered the first attack. And again, and again, their strength combined against him, Diabound roaring, defying them with every shattering blow of energy. And then the final strike, the one that had proved his undoing. _Why? Why had Diabound failed him? Why had he been there, strong as the foundations of Kul Elna for one second and crumbling the next?_

There was something, something else, at the back of his mind. What had happened? Why did he feel as if Seth was responsible? It could not possibly be his strength, Diabound was far stronger than either of them. _Could it be . . . _Never. He had never doubted his people, he had never doubted himself. _Diabound, do not fail me . . ._

**********************************************************************************************************************************

His body was sore, the muscles in his arms, back and legs twisting painfully with every jarring movement of the horse, every dip and rise in the deserted track they followed. All was dark, he had been heavily blindfolded. The Rod was in their possession, he could sense the small trickle of Shadow magic, characteristic of when a Millenium Item was near, but not directly with the holder. But that would not be nearly enough to break the runed shackles placed on his wrists and ankles. The magic was similar to his own, and yet different. The language in which enchantments were created and the properties of the items imbued with power varied. He would require much more time if he were to figure out how these binds functioned.

He had, furthermore, been strapped to the horse to prevent his falling off during his periods of unconsciousness. However, he had been awake for some hours now and he could tell that they had chosen a far less-frequented route through the marshes. The damp smell of decay, the whirr and sharp bite of the gnats and the muffled sound of the horse's hooves as they tramped and forged through mud and grass gave him the necessary clues. His captors had given no indication of where they were heading, or when they would get there. None of them had spoken to him, besides the occasional prod or sharp command. His head slumped forward onto his chest, mind travelling far back to Sumer, to Ibbin-adad, the dead soldiers in the shadowed street, the maddened priests in their cloistered room and the tablet of Inim Shara . . ._Praise be the Enlightened One, we of the brotherhood seek truth . . ._

***********************************************************************************************************************************

Six days of travel had brought him far north, past the cities of Mari and Terqa, further than the near junction of the Euphrates and Tigris rivers. The land around him rose in gentle slopes, different from the flood plains and marshy stretches near Ur and Lagash. The air became cooler and dryer with the increased elevation. He'd had to purchase warmer clothes and a sheepskin wrapper to wear over his _shora_. The wind bit into his dark skin, so accustomed to the caress of the Egyptian sun, and, when he removed his headdress to breathe easier, tousled his white mane till it stood out in even wilder disarray than before. The trees began, low shrubs amidst which ground-nesting birds whirled upwards with startled, admonishing screeches when disturbed by his horses's cantering hooves. The cedar woods began some way north west of Terqa, a wide tract which stretched all along the interior and a good portion of the coastline.

Within the forests, the grass was low at first, yellow where it faced the rays of the rising and setting sun and greener, quieter at the interior when he traversed deeper. Bakura felt a strangeness, a sense of the ethereal, being alone between these silent, spreading trees. And then he sensed _it_. His never-failing sixth sense. He had felt its presence as he had gone further, a deeper shade against the shadowy greenery, the stretching, ever-grasping boughs. It followed, watching, waiting. He could sense hunger, hatred, bestial knowledge, but nothing beyond. He knew Lamashtu, knew the slow-poisoning, tainted brush of her mind against his. This was different, but not any less dangerous. _A watcher, a sentinel, _he thought, _and here, I am the intruder. _He smirked as he went deeper, gloom falling over his solitary form. _Intruder. That is a part I play well, my friend._


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, any Yugioh characters portrayed in this fic, or 'Lamashtu'

**Author Notes: **And yet more incorporation of Sumerian mythology. Here's the next chapter . . .

**The River of Thought**

The fresh smell of overturned earth from the young, thrusting shoots and the mossy texture of tree trunks under his fingers became his focus as he concentrated on the presence hunting him through the cedar forest. It was nearing midday, he had camped outside the forest the day before in order to begin his journey at dawn. He knew that whatever it was that followed him would wait for the cover of nightfall to make its ambush.

He began to whistle, a deceptively cheery tune, leaning back casually in his saddle. Reaching out, he plucked berries off a nearby tree and tossed them into the air, catching them deftly in his mouth. He snapped branches off trees, nearly crushed several small animals under his horse's hooves, took pot-shots at roosting birds with apple cores and scattered the burnt remains of his fire by kicking them around. He grinned as he felt the rage build all around him in an almost perceptible aura of menace. Continuing in this irreverent strain, he disregarded every aspect of the forest's well-being, the hatred growing and growing in his potential attacker's thoughts.

_Anger makes one careless. It makes you braver than you should be, and you will be at my mercy . . ._

Diabound's dark essence crept slowly from his mind, filtering soundlessly amongst the tiny, pointed cedar sprigs and upwards, upwards to where the stalking shadow became visible, approaching faster now that his fury against this intruder was at its peak. _And so you make your first mistake . . ._

A heavy, musky odour began to permeate the forest, awakening a primal craving within the guardian of the cedar forest. Bestial as he was, he knew not what it was that made him desire blood with such fervour, warm as a sunbeam, heady as tree-sap, so sweet, so fresh . . .

The trees around them rustled with stirring life, the birds that had retired to their homes to roost for the night suddenly beating their wings in unease, in fear. Wild boars scraped their tusks along tree trunks in aggravation, creating a shuddering throughout their lairs. Bakura lifted his head, eyes closed as his Ka monster permeated the dusky gloom under every tree, between every branch, beneath and above the blades of grass whipping in the night breeze and stirring the dead leaves on the forest floor.

The watcher in the shadows, for the first time in his long, unhindered life, experienced a sense of disquiet. He lifted his large head, flexing lion-like claws as a strange, dark presence passed overhead, faster than the eye could see, the soft, seductive whisper sharpening his hunter's instinct. The scent of his prey grew stronger, alluring in the extreme. He quickened his pace, aware of the forest life stirring around him, the almost hostile hissing and snaps he received going unregistered. He was their guardian, he protected them from harm, from trespassers such as this. He was not concerned in the slightest. _Ah, but you should be . . ._

Deeper and deeper Bakura led the watcher into his own domain, laughing as he went. _Your duty shall prove your own undoing . . ._

*********************************************************************************************************************************

A steep flight of stairs, the hushed voices of his captors, the damp stone walls of his cell and the roughness of the straw pallet beneath his knees was all that Seth registered in his exhaustion and famished state. The blind-fold was removed and he squinted against the sudden light within the cell. Before he was given a chance to adjust, the cell door clanged shut sonorously and the heavy bolt shot into place. Lowering his head between his knees, he wretched emptily, stomach twisting in pain and hunger. He had only been given a single ration of bread and water per day during the course of their journey here. They had spoken to him only in whispers, of his preparation for perusing the texts of enlightenment, of the readying for the first test.

_Starvation and forcible confinement must be an essential part of their highly recognised religion_, he thought dryly_ I wonder if they all live in cells like this one. _A grim smile passed across the High Preist's guant face. _I'm not nearly done for yet._

It was only the following day that his cell door was unbolted once more. A hooded figure slipped into the cell and blindfolded him once more.

"Where am I being taken?" he demanded.

"You are being taken nowhere, initiate. The High Master is paying his respects. You cannot look upon him until you have been accepted into the Brotherhood."

Seth snorted. "Paying his respects?" he asked, voice heavy with scorn.

"Hush!" was the admonishing answer, "You must not speak unless spoken to."

Deciding to keep his own council for now, Seth waited in silence as he heard the slow, heavy tread of many approaching footsteps. The creak of the cell door was heard once more as a number of shuffling feet entered the cramped space. There was another silence, graver than before, and a single man drew nearer until he stood directly in front of Seth.

"Initiate." The voice was deep, slightly cracked with age, but with a great sense of command and authority. Seth did not deign to reply. He hated self-appointed leaders. The solemn voice continued, apparently unconcerned at the lack of response.

"You wonder, no doubt, as to why you are here. I can provide both answers and enlightenment, you have but to listen and learn."

"I would rather you killed me than force me to adopt your twisted, criminal principles, old man," said Seth sharply, straightening in his seat.

A hushed whisper of scandalous shock flitted around the cell, but the High Master seemed not in the slightest offended when he spoke again. Rather, he sounded quite pleased and impressed.

"I see the starvation has quickened your thinking, as it should have. You are a promising initiate indeed."

"It has not," returned Seth, "My wits have always been this sharp. You have much to learn yourself, it seems."

A soft chuckle sounded in the dead silence within the cell. "Indeed . . .indeed. Well, as you seem ready, the test will be performed right now. Bring the tablet, brother."

The sound of scurrying feet heading out of the room and Seth felt hands turn him roughly such that he was facing the wall. "Now, brothers, he still has much to learn. Do not treat him harshly."

Seth smiled to himself. These_ brothers _may not so enlightened after all. After a period of waiting, the blindfold was removed and Seth found himself confronted with an ancient clay tablet, still nestling in the soft calf-skin wrapping, placed such that the sun's rays illuminated the etched script and cast the verses on the tablet into sharp relief.

"Read," he was commanded.

Wondering what this was all about, Seth allowed his eyes to travel over the tablet. "Aloud," was his second instruction.

It was a simple thing indeed, but Seth was wary, his mind traveling back to the alive, and yet lifeless priests in the infirmary at Ur. "Why should I read this? It is an incantation, I can see that."

"But only by reciting will you acheive true enlightenment."

_I am stronger than that,_ thought the High Prist, _it will take more than a simple enchantment to addle my mind._

Taking a deep breath, he read.

_Sins of the father, visited upon the son_

_Blood spilled by steel, flesh consumed by fire_

_I hear your cries, child of death_

_of dust_

_of ash_

_Your justice, wreaked upon the living_

_Your rage, unleashed upon my kin_

_I listen, but I do not_

_I judge, but I see not_

_I hear your plea, child of hate_

_of fear_

_of cruelty_

_Your love, lost in a life passed_

_Your hope, crushed yet again_

_I listen, and I hear_

_I judge, your soul_

_As I do my own_

He went under faster than conscious thought could process. The cell disappeared, leaving him in endless, sightless darkness. A pin-prick of light appeared ahead, growing until he was entirely enveloped, falling into a world not his own. The heat hit him first, the sweeping bite of the desert sand.

_Egypt!_ He staggered to his feet, noticing immediately that his strength had fully returned. His clothes were unsoiled, in perfect condition. Reaching up, he gingerly felt his headdress and looked around. The sand dunes extended for miles around him, featureless, dead. Trudging up a slope, the sand sifting through the straps of his sandals, Seth wondered what on earth this 'test' signified. _Utterly pointless, moronic and, I must say, singularly unimpressive . . ._

Cresting another dune, he stopped dead in his tracks. A small village lay in the lee of the hill below, smoke rising from multiple campfires scattered between the houses. A high wall punctuated with crudely erected watch-towers belted the outskirts, the shadowy shapes of watchmen indicating that a vigil was in place. _What is this? _

Approaching slowly, Seth was startled when a shape detached itself from almost beneath his feet. He stumbled, knees bent, ready to defend himself, but the concealed man did not even glance at him. Seth had a momentary impression of swarthy skin, the strong smell of sweat and dark, fearful eyes before the sentinel turned on his heel and half-slipped, half-ran down the sand dune behind him, back in the direction of the village. He heard a shout go up as the man neared the walls.

"The Pharoah's men! They arrive!"

The alarm was carried all along the wall, signal fires blazing into existence as other crouching shapes materialized all around him and on the opposite hill, all hastening to the central point of the village. Seth was completely confused and disorientated. _Does nobody see me?_

It certainly seemed so. He turned his attention back to the rapidly arming walls of the small village. Archers had taken up positions at regular intervals and the stamp and snort of the prepared cavalry sounded from within the fortifications. Then he heard it, the steady pound of hooves. Turning, his eyes widened as he beheld the gleaming shields, spears, scimitars and helmets, the golden crest of the Pharoah emblazoned on the herald's standard floating in fiery glory at the head of the galloping column. He backed away, out of the direct path of the soldiers to avoid being trampled as they thundered past him, the clouds of dust raised by their charge blinding him temporarily. Still, nobody registered his presence and he began to realise that this was probably part of the test. He was here in the role of observer.

Swiping at the cloud around him, he came further forward to watch the spectacle unfolding before his eyes with growing doubt and incomprehension. Why was the Royal army marching against their own citizens? This was definitely Egyptian land. Perhaps they were rebels . . . _But I recall no revolts in our time, not even on the outskirts of Upper Egypt. Why am I here? More precisely, when?_

As suddenly as it had come, the scene of violence and bitter conflict before him changed. Startled, Seth spun in a circle. _What in the name of Ra . . .?_

He inhabited exactly the same position as before, on the same hill offering a vantage point over the small village. But this was different. Slow realization dawned over the High Priest as he registered the deserted streets, the burnt, still smoking walls, the empty, soulless homes, splintered beams rising like the skeleton of some ancient, forgotten beast above the once teaming streets. _It seems as if all's over. I can make a rough guess as to which side won,_ he thought as he approached warily. There was not a soul present to challenge him as he passed the gates, torn down and cast away from their defensive position. A small sound, carried by the wind ghosted past his ears. Head snapping sharply in the direction from which it had come, Seth broke into a swift trot, peering between the ruined buildings for the source. It was so small, he nearly missed it.

In a corner, almost completely concealed by the rubble that had collapsed into the street from a neighbouring house, a small, dirty bundle. He stepped closer, treading softly although he knew that there was no need for this. Another sound, now recognisable as a child's soft sob. Stretching his neck, he glanced over the shattered remnants of a clay oven and felt his blood run cold. A boy, no older than five, lay curled into a ball, two tiny, bloody fists bunched in the material of his torn, soiled garb. Sobs wracked his thin body, tears creating a dark patch on his knees where his head rested. Covered from head to foot in blood, dirt and soot, he had no distinguishing features. Seth felt an odd clenching sensation in the pit of his stomach. _Did he see all of this? Is he the only one left?_

Reaching out, he carefully placed a hand on the child's head. As expected, the boy felt nothing, simply sitting in the same position and crying jerkily. But Seth could feel. His fingers brushed soft hair, traced down over the shape of the small, fragile head. _Why? Why am I here? _A strange feeling this, this lump in his throat. He felt pity, but something else too. The narrow shoulders, the bones standing out such that he felt they would break if he exerted the slightest pressure. _What test is this?_ Regret. That was the elusive emotion. He regretted his invisibility, the reason he could not pick up this defenseless little child and take him far from here, to where he would be safe and warm.

The boy shifted, sand scattering from where it had gathered between his thick locks. In the dim light the portion of hair that was revealed looked almost . . .white. _White? What on earth? . . .no, no, never . . ._

Seth withdrew his hand as if he had been burnt, fear clasping an icy hand over his heart as he watched the child raise his head, blood streaming from a hideous gash across his puffy, swollen, right eyelid. _No, it cannot be . . ._

The High Priest raised his hands to either side of his head as a small sniff echoed from the boy's nose. The narrow face crumpled again as he turned his head, one eye shut, the other showing dark, slate-blue depths of bottomless terror and loss, a grief so agonizing that Seth let out a low animal moan of horror in response. _Let me out . . ._

The boy rose to his feet on wobbly legs, feeling his way to make up for his loss of eyesight, a soft wailing escaping the small mouth drawn in anguish. Staggering back Seth could not tear his eyes away from the diminutive, trembling form, innocence, shock and need radiating from its every pore.

"Help," the voice, so young, so helpless, "Please help me, somebody . . ."

Knees gave way beneath his weight as Seth sank to the ground. "Somebody . . ." wrenched from the bottom of a growing well of despair, the desire for another's presence, an adult to hold and comfort . . .

_No, please, enough! Let me go, I beg you . . ._

He awoke to screaming, pleading, a strange dampness on his cheeks. Many hands were restraining him, holding him down on the rough straw pallet. A strong, gentle grip lifted his chin, tilting back his head and a pair of old, searching eyes stared into his own. A smile spread across the face that watched, etching deeper wrinkles into the ancient skin.

"He has passed the test, brothers! The madness has no grasp over his mind!"

Exhuberent chanting filled the tiny cell as Seth pushed himself upright shakily on his elbows, the weight of the stone tablet in his lap recalling him to its presence. Looking down, he saw that the markings had vanished. No trace of the incantation he had read remained. The High Master's gaze met his incomprehending stare.

"It is different for everyone," he explained, as if he were speaking to a child, "Each person defines their own test, the thing they would find most difficult to confront, to overcome. All thus far have been driven mad, but your sanity remains. You are the one we seek."

Seth remained silent. _Enlightenment . . . the truth. The thing which they seek. I witnessed the truth . . . my truth, everything I stand for, everything I defend. My test was . . . to see my enemy as he stood once, to pity, to forgive . . . _

He resisted the urge to scream again, to shove away the kind hand on his shoulder, but suddenly he lacked the strength. _What have we done? My Pharoah, my King . . ._

**********************************************************************************************************************************

Moonlight brushed the now gleaming strands of white hair, once so matted and covered in dirt. Teeth gleamed in fierce exhilaration, the tear-stained, blood-streaked face long forgotten as his horse carried him at full gallop along the twisting path ahead. The wind caught at his cloak, whipping it out in a dark river behind him, exposing the broad-shouldered torso rippling with corded muscle, no trace of fragility or innocence remaining. Thief King Bakura raced ahead of the ravening monster, hearing the heavy, rapid thud of following footfalls shaking the ground beneath his steed's feet. _Come to me . . . You desire blood, as do I . . ._

A large, clawed hand swung out, nearly catching the hem of his cloak and he laughed, eyes sparkling with madness and dangerous delight. _Race me! Faster! I'm right here . . . keep up now! _

The sound of a river sounded ahead and his manic grin widened. _Catch me . . . rip me apart . . . my heart beats faster than yours . . ._

The trees thinned ahead and he gasped. Freezing water flooded over his thighs as his horse plunged into the swift current ahead. Bakura swung sharply, grasping the reins firmly as hooves slipped slightly on the rocks below. The watcher was fully revealed in his entire, nightmareish glory as he reared, a thundering roar escaping his jagged maw and his claws flashing like deadly scythes in the brilliant light. The scimitar was drawn with a metallic scrape as Bakura faced him, no fear in his eager, shining eyes. _Come and get me . . ._

Diabound's shadowy essence loomed up, gigantic against the backdrop of the forest, and yet barely there, undetected by the guardian of the cedar forest. The Ka beast whirled around the monster, flooding his vision with aggravating darkness as the claws swiped and struck out in frustration and fury. A swift swing of the sword, fur flying, blood spraying in a wide arc and another roar echoed out, this time in pain. Maneuvering his horse skilfully against the rapidly flowing waters, Bakura dodged, ducked, lunging forward whenever he saw an opening whilst the creature blundered, floundering against the blindness that had descended so suddenly.

Managing to claim a position behind his opponent, Bakura spurred his horse dangerously close. The scimitar flashed, once, twice, severing hamstrings at the back of the trunk-like legs. With a scream of agony and rage, the guardian of the cedar forest stumbled forward, pitching into the treacherous waters. Talons scrambled for a grip on the smooth rocks, but Bakura was there again, heavy blows dealt in swift succesion slicing through flesh and bone, cleaving fingers from the creature's massive, hairy hands.

Water poured down the gaping, wretching thoat as the swirling current swept the great body downstream, down to the jagged, waiting rocks below. Alone, the Thief stood oulined against the night sky, dampness gleaming on his heaving chest, eyes shining with triumph. _I win the race, you lose your life. How tragic this world is, my poor, dead friend. _He threw back his head and laughed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, any Yugioh characters or 'Lamashtu'

**Author notes: **A conversational chapter . . .of sorts. Updating will be somewhat slower due to the injury-prone nature of this unfortunate author :(

**The River of Thought**

He could feel her presence, gently roiling around his reclining form, mingling with the first rays of dawn. It was the sweet-sour reek of a decomposing corpse, strangely attractive and yet so vile. Eyes snapping open, he beheld her bulky, grotesque form in the deeper shade beneath the cedar trees at the far side of the clearing in which he had chosen to make his camp. In the ever-growing daylight, her featureless, amorphous mass focused, bringing her odious characteristics to full view. With renewed disgust did he observe the leonine head, too massive for the hunched, hairy body, the stringy arms, so full of unholy strength born of another world altogether, the plate-like ass's teeth projecting above her drooping lower lip, the monstrous hawk-like feet plated with scales and the razor sharp talons, flexing out to carress the air as the slack mouth widened in a smile of feral glee.

_So, my Thief, you have killed the Watcher? You bring the wrath of the Gods upon your own head. _A horse laugh escaped her, swiftly ended when Bakura continued to lie upon the upturned tree trunk, apparently unconcerned by her presence. She saw the beautiful, shadowed eyes turn slightly to look upon her sideways through long, snowy eyelashes. She saw the flash of amusement. With a hiss of rage, she reared to her full height.

_Do you forget who holds power over you? Who controls your every move, puny one?_

As quick as she, he was upon his feet, a dangerous gleam behind the humour. "You hold power over _me_, you say? Why then, care to explain how you omitted to mention the Guardian of this forest to your _faithful pawn?_"

She was all honeyed words and smiles once more. _You think I would purposefully place your life at risk, my sweet one?_

"Ha!" Bakura threw back his head and barked a humourless laugh. "Are you implying that this wasn't your idea of a test? To see how far my strength and skill would take _you_, demoness?"

_Not in the slightest, dear heart. I would never willingly hurt you, you are far too precious to me. You slight my honour by suggesting such a thing. _

"Indeed. That also being the reason you neglected to mention that the very man who I wish to see the least is residing within those walls!"

He gestured in the direction of the stepped sides of the towering ziggurat who's peak showed just above the tree-tops half a mile from where Bakura had made his camp. Lowering his voice to a venemous whisper, he advanced on her slowly, darkness visible only to himself and the demoness stretching behind him like an ominous whip.

"Is there a reason for that too, or has your generous store of excuses run out already?"

_I had no idea you had already scouted Nergal's temple, _she said smoothly, seeming to accept the Thief's dangerous proximity, _Well done indeed, my love. I have no concept of how fast you work, you see? And in answer to your question, the High Priest you seem so anxious to avoid is kept prisoner in that temple, not through his own free will did he come to be there._

She watched Bakura's slightly startled expression morph into thoughtfulness with satisfaction. "Prisoner, you say?"

Oh, how she loved the twisted paths his mind took. _Captive of the Brothers of Holy Enlightenment_. _They wish to use your foe to harness the great energy lying dormant within the item I seek._

Bakura frowned, his eyes pinning her down, "Use him? How would they accomplish that?"

_It is said that the power of the item can only be initiated by one who sees truth and accepts this as part of his being. There is something greater, what it is even I do not know, that this object presents the chosen one with. He must first pass their test in order to look upon it, and when he does, the control over this will be his to command._

"That makes no sense, demoness. If Seth is to be used to look upon this item, then the power is _his_, as you say. What do these 'brothers' hope to acheive by this?"

_They have their ways and means, lovely Thief. Do not think that the centuries spent in search of this knowledge have been wasted. They will obtain what the object offers, whether Seth is the vessel or not._

"Then I have little time, demoness. Tell me what I need to find and what this object is, or it will soon be beyond either of our reach. And I would appreciate it . . ." he narrowed his gleaming eyes once more, "if you produced _less surprises this time._"

She laughed, reaching out to stroke his cheek with a clawed finger, elation growing at his stony face. _Soon, soon beautiful one, you will not look on me with such repulsion . . ._

_I will do no such thing,_ she said aloud, _Do you think me completely without compassion? If you doubt me, look upon that on which you stand._

Stepping backwards, Bakura shifted so that the sunlight fell onto the smooth pebbles under his feet. They looked strangely bleached, as if all colour had been drained from their surfaces. Hairline cracks extended across some of the domes, which were much smaller than others . . .

His face contorted in an unknown emotion when he realised what it was. "This . . .this . . ."

A soft cackling reached his ears and Bakura looked up, the vast, alien desire in her eyes sending a chill down his spine. He knew now that he had not chosen this place to rest by some accidental impulse. Thousands of human skulls, mostly of young children and infants were embedded one above the other to create a basin that probably extended many feet below the ground, and he was standing directly in the centre of this macabre celebration of bitterness. Lamashtu's feeding ground.

_You spent a safe night here,_ she crooned, _No forest creature or any other could have touched you in my sanctuary. You see, my heart, I do look after my own . . .now, enough of that. Come closer, I have much to tell you . . ._

***********************************************************************************************************************************

Seth drew his limbs closer, ignoring the sunlight pouring in through the bars of his newly acquired and far more spacious quarters. Five brothers of the temple stood guard outside, slowly patrolling lest he try some means of escape. The Millenium Rod was far beyond his reach, he could not even feel the small, steady flow of shadow magic.

_Why? Why that? How is this my destiny?_ Hands clenching convulsively on the coarse robes he had been provided with, Seth's brow furrowed, the only outward indication he would ever give of his emotional turmoil. _I have strength, I have pride, I have purpose . . ._the mantra that had been circulating in his mind for most of his captivity period after he had read that fateful tablet. But all was futile. More and more senseless the more he repeated it. _Why?_

He did not know the nature of his coming ordeal. To be unprepared was a strange feeling to one who had always placed such value on control, on perfection, on acheivement of ideals. Against his better judgement, his thoughts drifted back to the test, the destruction of the village, the boy . . .

_Help . . .please help me . . ._

Agony that was almost physical lanced through the High Priest's mind. _How? How did we commit such atrocity? When did I begin to defend that which caused such great suffering?_

He bowed his head once more. _My truth, my enemy, what have we created in you? How can I face you now that I know that everything you have become, the evil you brought, the lives you have taken, are a stain on my hands as much as they are on yours?_

A faint sound from the bars over the single window echoed hollowly in the almost empty room. Head snapping up, Seth beheld something which made him turn white to the lips, his shaking arms falling slackly to his sides. There, framed by the softly stealing light of dawn, was a shock of white hair and a pair of lazily amused slate-blue eyes.

"Well, well, well. Fallen on hard times, have we not, High Priest?"

A strange feeling this, this sense of simply watching what his body did, the words his mouth responded with, utterly powerless to stop himself.

"_Bakura!"_

"Indeed, it is I," The head at the window cocked to the side slightly while a devious grin parted the lips, "You sound almost pleased to see me. Any particular reason for that?"

Seth was silent. He would never dream of asking Bakura for assistance of any kind. _How on earth did he end up here? And how did he know where to find me? _A cold feeling spread throughout his body. _This is no coincidence . . .it cannot be . . ._

"Ah, still so full of pride. You have but to ask me, you know."

Seth stirred his numbed mind with effort. "How did you come to be here, Thief?"

He was glad that Bakura could not see his entire face in the dim light of the chamber. His voice must have given something away though, for Bakura assumed a speculative air, the luminous eyes seeking to penetrate his adversary's emotional shield.

"I never thought that a group of incompetent fools such as these would ever be able to break your spirit, High Priest. Don't tell me . . .," he paused in mock thought, "Ah, yes, those shackles you wear. Resistant to shadow magic, I presume?"

"You haven't answered my question. What are you doing here and how did you find me?"

"I always find the things I seek, dear friend. Or more precisely, the _item_ I require."

Seth's eyes narrowed immediately. "To sate your curiosity, Thief, I no longer possess the Rod. It is in the hands of my captors. Maybe you should waste your time elsewhere."

He turned abruptly from the window, only to be rewarded with a soft chuckle. He gritted his teeth. Bakura could not possibly know the effort it was costing him to speak out loud, to interact with the very subject of his thoughts, the face which haunted his every dream.

"I have a proposition for you," the voice was as cocky as ever, but there was something underlying it. Seth turned partially to show that Bakura had at least a portion of his attention.

"I am going to steal the object of power that the priests of this temple possess," was the blunt statement which took Seth completely off guard. He snapped around fully, eyes watching Bakura carefully.

"You no doubt refer to the Rod? That will not avail you to any end, Bakura, and you know it. The Rod must choose you in order for you to wield it."

Another snigger. "You are mistaken yet again. I refer to something . . .other than the Rod. Your friends won't be pleased. You will become dispensable, High Priest . And that is something I cannot have."

Curiosity overcame guilt and dislike. "Why? And how do you know of any other object within this temple?"

The Thief held his gaze for a few seconds, something dark passing like a fleeting shadow behind his flippant stare. "All in good time. You have the answers I seek. Only by another Shadow Game, and only with you as an opponent, can I understand what has happened to my Ka."

Seth was baffled by this, but kept his face carefully blank. "Your Ka has been sealed away. There is nothing you can do."

"You lie," hissed in sudden fury, "I feel him there, he is ever-present, just beyond my reach. But no fear, he will be returned to me soon. But simply regaining my strength is not the only thing which concerns me. I need to understand _what was done_. You hold the key, and I will find it."

Seth lowered his head so that his chin rested on his chest to conceal his worry. _Regain his Ka? That's not possible. _And then he recalled the mangled bodies of the guards within the cell, the terror of Sin-nasir, the robbery at the tavern, how easily he himself had been found . . ._There is some other power at work here._

"Your Pharoah is not here to console you, mighty Priest. There are other ways to obtain benefits, however . . ."

Once, not so long ago, but ages since to Seth, he would have bristled, challenged Bakura, shamed him for offering such insults. That ever-gnawing doubt that ate his very soul chose this inopportune moment to re-surface, however, and he hurriedly turned away from those hateful, accusing eyes. "You will find no solace here, Thief. I have nothing to offer you. Begone, before somebody hears you."

A sudden silence greeted this and Seth almost felt Bakura's uncertainty. "You wish to remain here and be killed when I offer you a chance at freedom and a shadow game? Where is your pride, High Priest? You were sent here to track me, were you not? You would turn down an opportunity I so freely provide?"

A split second and his mind was made up. With difficulty, Seth rose from his seat and approached the heavy iron bars bracketing the small window. He had made a decision in the short time during which Bakura had appeared, one that had only fully formed when Bakura had spoken of the other item of great strength. There was something more at stake here, something bigger, and he knew it. Mortal lives were of no consequence to the higher powers at play in this game, and he had to think of things as such.

"Bakura, take heed of what I say to you."

The Thief looked momentarily taken aback, not simply due to the grave tone that Seth had adopted, but also the fact that one of his mortal enemies had addressed him by name with no aspersions cast.

"I wish for freedom, as do you, as does any man. But I am willing to risk my duty in this country, seeking and capturing you, for the more important task at hand." He took a breath, meeting the Thief's incredulous gaze with one of great fortitude. "You must take the Millenium Rod. And you must use it."

A short silence greeted this followed by the heaving motion of Bakura's shoulders as he doubled over in silent laughter. "You take me for a complete imbecile, High Priest? Has this confinement bereft you of your senses? You are no doubt aware that you yourself just reminded me of the Rod's dormancy in the hands . . ."

"I am aware," interrupted Seth abruptly. He had heard a noise from outside the cell and urgency made its way into his voice. "But the Rod will not remain dormant in your possession if I hand it over willingly."

Again, Bakura was startled into silence. His shaded eyes widened ever so slightly and Seth had the momentary impression of a man, not a monster, the man Bakura should have been. Another wrench, this time lasting. Bakura was watching Seth's internal strife with utter confusion, his disbelief and scepticism grossly apparent.

"Willingly?" barely a whisper.

Seth met his gaze, almost branding his enemy with his own intensity, the man he had hated with every fibre of his being, to comprehend his honesty, the thing he would never say to him, the thing he had seen . . .

"Yes. Willingly, Bakura. I will never challenge you again, to a shadow game or otherwise. That you must accept. My principles will not allow it . . ." he broke off, breathing hard. "You have never displayed concern for those you have oppressed in the past. I can only hope that there is more to your soul than self-preservation. If not, then you will obtain the Millenium Rod, and regain your Ka monster if all that you say is true. You stand to benefit from this either way."

He was greeted with another silence, the Thief's face a mask of concealed emotion. Seth prayed silently, the noises outside growing in volume.

Finally, "What is your proposition, _Seth_?"

The High Priest met the Thief's eyes once again, his long fingers wrapping with strength enough to leave behind impressions in the cold metal despite his weakened state. "Then hear me, as one man to another. Forget nothing I say to you."

**********************************************************************************************************************************

A strange sense of calm had descended._ But surely, this is why I have been chosen? This is why I have not been driven mad. I accept what you are and my part in it. I know truth and, above all, I understand it._

It was a blazing blue gaze which met the oncoming rays of the sun, the pinched, drawn profile exposing the inner man in all the splendour of his soul, the honour and beauty of a steel blade, flexible, hard and stronger in reflection of the brilliant rays than a pane of polished glass. _But whatever it is I have seen, I am the man I was made to be. I will not compromise. There are principles to be followed, there is a justice to be served. Retribution must come, but not only to the Thief. As strange as my captors may be, as twisted their ideals, they have some glimmerings of the larger picture. Truth is, indeed, beauty, and that is my calling._


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, any Yugioh characters portrayed in this fic, or 'Lamashtu'

**Author notes: **Aha, after that controversial chapter, answers are wanted are they not? Never fear, they will arrive . . . shortly :) Will Seth's hopes and plans be fulfilled? Bakura is a tricky customer . . .

**The River of Thought**

_He's lost his senses_. The immediate conclusion that had come to mind when he had seen the fervour in those sunken, feverishly bright eyes, the urgency in that hoarse whisper. The High Priest he had known and hated was a supercilious, aristocratic bastard who thought that every problem, every dispute could be solved with a little common sense and a dash of logic. It was almost as if they had broken him completely, tore down his beliefs and left him with nothing but a strange, fanatical purpose, to save all of humankind by handing over the Millenium Rod to his worst enemy. But there was something behind this, something that was troubling Bakura despite his scepticism. There had been an emotion in Seth's eyes, one that he could not pin down. For the first time in all his years, in all their confrontations, the High Priest had been reluctant to meet his gaze. _Shame? Fear? That's not possible. Whatever they did to him would not change his opinion of me . . . I am Bakura, King of Thieves, Scourge of Egypt, bane of the Pharoah and his mortal enemy. But why was he so hesitant to look upon me? As much as his scheme benefits me, what makes him think he can trust me to fall in with it? And the Rod . . . _this was the point of contention that reared its ugly head in Bakura's thoughts. _That makes no sense whatsoever. Is there that much truly at stake, that he would hand over the Rod to the very person he poured his entire life into keeping it from? _

Bakura thought of Lamashtu, of the primeval longing in her deep, deep eyes. She was an ancient being, that he knew, with victims captured and fed from for many centuries in order to sate her vengeful desires. He had sensed, from the very beginning, her appetite for control, her apparent puppeteering of his movements providing her with endless amusement and satisfaction. It was _who _he was that added to her delight. The great Thief King, tamed, brought to his knees as some twisted form of pet for her own pleasure. It had enraged him to no end at first, loathing burning almost as great as it did towards the Pharoah and his detestable, self-righteous cohort of Priests.

But there was much to be gained from his interaction with her, that he had soon seen. Despite the test she had arranged which had brought him a confrontation with the Forest's Guardian, she would look after him should he show some degree of loyalty to her; to do what she asked. _Maybe the High Priest sees some semblence of truth, after all. Is it possible . . . that there is some greater intelligence, some terrible power of a higher order which these fools think they could control?_

Had Bakura been a reckless man, he would have thrown caution to the winds, double-crossed both Seth and Lamashtu and claimed this object for his own. Experience had taught him, however, to be wary, to take nothing at face value. He was still uncertain as to whether he would accept Seth's proposition. He would certainly take the Rod, that much was owed to him and his people. But, as wonderful as limitless power and dominance sounded, he had yet to scope out the aspects of the tablet or 'lethal text' as Seth had called it. Lamashtu had named it differently. _Ana Harrani Sa Alaktasa La Tarat. _The road who's course does not turn back.

**********************************************************************************************************************************

He did not know what exactly they planned to do with him, what this new trial was, but he had some idea of what he had undergone now. His extensive reading had only hinted at it, the thing they had presented him with, the tablet. What he had read was something of a diluted version of it, the 'lethal text'. He had uttered a silent prayer of thankfulness once he had realised the nature of what the other priests had been exposed to. It had resulted in madness rather than . . .that. The lethal text was referred to by many different names, some of them obscure, some vague, others giving indications of the direct effects. The principle was that power lay within knowledge, knowledge lay in enlightenment, enlightenment in truth, in acceptance. That had been his first inkling. He did not know how they planned to use him, how they would obtain what they desired, but he would not let them acheive it. _You know not what you seek . . . the thing you will find. I will stop you._

The echo of footfalls, the scrape of sandals on stone as the sentries at his door parted to allow the passage of the High Master of their Order. He sat, back rigid, ignoring the hunger and pain boring like dozens of termites into every part of his anatomy. The door swung open and Ahum-waqar, leader of the Brothers of Enlightenment, stepped in, opening his arms, his face creasing into a million wrinkles as he smiled as if greeting a long lost son.

"Are you ready, Brother? Are you ready to do your duty, to us, your only family?"

Seth stood, his face blank, white as a sheet. "I am ready to do my duty." 

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The illusion trap had been clever. A strange spell, a less potent version of the shadow magic used to summon Ka monsters and creatures from the other plane, but with no less fatal effect. The creature was not brought forth, merely displayed from behind a rip between this world and the shadow realm. Its appearance was monstrous, magnified by many glamours, guaranteed to make any ordinary tomb robber take a step back and be gutted like a fish. And therein lay the crux. A single step backwards would trigger a mechanical chain rection beneath the floor, a series of cogs . . ._I can almost hear them whirr, so soft, so musical_ . . .His instinct told him when to dodge the ricocheting circular blades . . . _And again . . ._ dropping to the floor to avoid the spearing lances overhead . . . _Not out of the woods yet_ . . . rolling down the long ramp, lifting, dropping, swinging, sliding . . .

And he was there. Sweat ran in clear rivulets down his chest and temples, beading on his upper lip and forehead. Elation filled him when he beheld the chamber before him, reaching right up to the ziggurat's peak, the sloping walls drawing in sweeping lines to the giant limestone slabs composing the floor. It was colossal, it was charged with an energy that he could not fathom. _It's here . . . I can feel it . . ._

He stepped away from the small, concealed entrance, no more than a drain outlet, carefully skirting the central aisle. There was a small, raised pedestal at the very centre, nondescript, ancient, withered vines coiling like hundreds of cobras up to the apex where they thinned out. This was where the calling emanated from . . . the spring of power, fresher than an oasis in the desert.

Narrowed eyes scanned the floor, ceiling, walls, noting the dents, the pockets, the niches, perfect originating points for the traps he wished to avoid. At the lower portion of the pyramidal chamber pillars arose, three times as thick as himself, the ancient designs carved in convoluted swirls under his exploring fingers.

And she was there, her presence sending shockwaves through his frame as he felt her intrusion into his mind, the repulsive fingers groping at his fleeting, elusive thoughts.

Rage blossomed faster than she could capture his consciousness, with all of his strength, he pushed, expelling her foul essence, Diabound's shadowy form twisting and slashing at her. With barely any effort at all, she trapped the writhing Ka beast underfoot, crushing it in a grasp that brought him to his knees.

_You would break your word to me, my love?_ Her voice was adoring, furious and cracking under the force of betrayal all at once. _You would help that Priest, the man you hate over the one who loves you, who would offer protection against all else?_

She lessened the pressure somewhat and he staggered upright, eyes blazing, clutching at his chest. "Demon bitch!" he spat, "I never broke our agreement. I am here, am I not? Doing the thing you asked me?"

_But it was in your mind, I saw it there! Your uncertainty will be our downfall! Can you not trust me?_

"_Our_ downfall? Ha! May I recall her highness to the _actual_ deal we made? My Ka beast for the tablet, nothing further than that!"

_Do not take me for a fool, my sweet. I know about this . . . Millenium Rod the Priest spoke of. You plan to take that too._

"That has nothing to do with you!" he snarled, "The Rod is mine by right, the Priest knows that!"

_Oh, but it has everything to do with me. All that you are, I am, and the same applies vice versa. We will share this power that the tablet brings, and the Millenium Rod will make us . . . a force to be reckoned with indeed."_

The hunger in her voice was unmistakeable. And he was certain, then, that she would never let him be, would never relinquish her control over him. With immense effort he restrained the urge to draw his sword and tear her apart then and there. "And my Ka beast?"

_I never specified _when_ you would receive it, my love. As much as I admire your ruthlessness, I must protect my own person. Did you think I left myself no bargaining chip?_

Diabound roared in silent rage as his hatred flamed brighter than it ever had before. _Ancient, cunning, powerful as you are, you know not whom you trifle with, demoness. And you will not even live to regret it . . . what a pity._

Her depravity, her desire to control and dominate had taken her too far. The Thief King had made his decision, he had cast the die. _Seth, you imbecilic bastard, you had better be right. If all you said was the product of madness . . ._

A noise alerted them to an approaching group of people, voices raised in chant, sandals slapping steadily against the cold, stone floors. Lamashtu turned to him, her smile widening as he dodged for cover behind one of the pillars. Bakura kept his thoughts carefully reigned, although he felt some small satisfaction at her complacency. _So, the demoness believes she has me at last . . . although I am the weaker at present, she will coon learn never to underestimate me . . . it makes things somewhat easier._

He watched them bring in the High Priest, his anger still simmering dangerously near the surface as he watched the ascetic face he hated with such fervour, the complexion like freshly pounded papyrus, as he mounted the steps to the platform. Lamashtu watched from the darkness not far away, somehow concealing her bulk by an illusion charm which exploited the towering shadows cast by the pillars across the room. Her eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding before them, now that she had deemed Bakura less of a threat, and he could almost sense the sharpening of her appetite, the gleam in her eyes when she beheld Seth pausing before the pedestal.

The old man whom Bakura assumed was the leader of the Brothers of Enlightenment climbed up behind Seth. He tapped Seth lightly on the shoulder and the High Priest dropped mechanically to his knees on the cushion provided by one of the robed figures.

Bakura turned his head slightly and caught his breath. There, on a gilded platter held by one of the Brothers, was the Millenium Rod. The man held it with reverence and some degree of awe judging by the way he positioned it slightly away from his body. Closer, he needed to be closer . . .

**********************************************************************************************************************************

Seth closed his eyes, refusing to read the words etched into the tablet before him just yet, shallow and faded with age beyond reckoning. It had been fused with the pedestal beneath by some form of magic, highly powerful, but completely overshadowed by the sheer, raw energy released like a drug into his system by the weathered clay beneath his fingers. He shuddered, half in horror, half in ecstasy.

"Beautiful, is it not?" said the voice of Ahum-waqar, softly from his position above.

Seth nodded wordlessly, playing to their tune for now. _Thief, I pray, do some good just this once . . . please, please be here . . . please take heed of what I said to you . . ._

In the shadows, Bakura watched, awaiting his chance.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, any Yugioh characters depicted in this fic, or 'Lamashtu'

**Author notes: **It draws to a close in these final chapters, readers. Remember to leave reviews or comments, everything is welcome! They make me very, very happy indeed!

**The River of Thought**

There was a stillness, an awareness of the chamber closing high above his head, the feel of the tablet beneath his fingers, the light touch of Ahum-waqar's fingers on the top of his skull, the breath of the gathered brothers ghosting out in fine vapour. He was apart, and yet connected to each and every one of them through the strange, wild magic running through his frame, a whisper, a promise of what was to come.

A hush descended amongst the softly chanting brothers as they all raised their cowled heads, shaded eyes bright with anticipation and wonder. And it was not surprising. For centuries, they had waited, watched, learned, collected, cutting down their opposition, doing all that was necessary to bring the power of truth, of enlightenment to their brotherhood. And here it all ended, here it all began. In this man, this High Priest, lay the key to all they had endured through the ages. He was a brother now, he had become one in the sacrifice of himself for the holy knowledge and immeasurable energy bestowed by the ancient text. Their High Master, supreme to all the brothers, would reap the force, leading them into a new dawn for mankind, mankind under their rule. All would see truth, and if not, they would fall to their might.

Seth's breathing quickened as he felt Ahum-waqar's grip tighten on his skull. A strong, but steady stream of energy, the same that had been used to battle his shadow magic during his capture, passed from the splayed fingers and gently stirred his hair in an unseen breeze, making him feel strangely vulnerable. This was it, and he knew it well. The moment that all his mental and magical strength would be required for; his resistance. Gritting his teeth he firmed his mind, but even then he was unprepared for the thing that happened. Ahum-waqar's gentle chanting suddenly escalated in both volume and intensity. No longer did an ordinary human clasp keep his head fixed in position, his entire upper body felt as if it were encased in a shell of hardened iron, impossible to make a single movement within its confines. The High Priest's eyes widened as he struggled wildly against the rapidly restricting coils binding him in place.

_And then PAIN! His entire body twisted as white-hot, lancing arrows of pure fire exploded in his mind. Agony beyond anything he had ever known, greater than the knowledge that he would fail, greater than the thought of never feeling the sands of Egypt beneath his feet again, greater than the wrench in his heart at the sight of those pleading, sightless, slate-blue eyes in a face too young to know sorrow and loss . . .Please, help me, please . . . somebody . . . _

**********************************************************************************************************************************

Lamashtu was careless. Caught up in the spectacle before her, her eyes gleaming, lips wet where she had licked them over and over in anticipation, she had not noticed when he had slipped away from his post behind the column beside her. Stealthily, he approached the man bearing the tray on which the Millenium Rod sat. The hooded figure of his target swayed slightly, his voice joining in with the low recitation reverberating throughout the room. _Easy now, stay as you are . . . _A gleam in the shadows as his dagger was drawn . . ._ As you are, my good brother . . ._

The scream, drawn out in unearthly torment, despair and anguish, magnified thousandfold by the blast of raw energy spilling from the central pedestal brought him to his knees, clutching at his head to maintain some level of sanity. The dagger dropped from his grasp as he buckled under the force, waves of the High Priest's torture striking out, clawing into the mind of every person in the chamber.

Growling, sweat pouring from his chest under the effort, Bakura opened his eyes once more and staggered upright, focusing on the collapsed shapes of the brothers around him, all writhing and twisting under the amplified outpouring of Seth's emotions. Behind him, he heard Lamashtu's shriek of fury as she registered his absence.

_Damn it all to Ra . . ._ Lunging, the Thief barely escaped the sweeping claws of the enraged demoness as he skidded towards where the Rod lay, discarded on the stone flags where it had rolled from the quivering grasp of its keeper. Roughly kicking the robed man out of his path, he had just touched the item with his fingertips when a sharp pain tore its way through his calves. Shouting in fury, he drew his blade and stabbed wildly at the source, earning another shriek, this time in pain. The grip on his legs ceased. Rolling over onto his back, he beheld Lamashtu rear upright, a black, steaming liquid running down her wrist. _Ichor! _Clenching his teeth against the High Preist's roars, he sprang out of the path of the fluid as it streaked in a wide arc with the passage of her arm, burning a sizeable trench in the stone pillar which it struck.

_My love . . ._the abominable crooning mingled with the cacophany surrounding him, somehow managing to be heard as an individual voice . . ._why do you run? Together we can have this power, rule together as one . . ._

"Never!" Darting forward again, he snatched up the Rod, his blade singing as it sliced through the air, drawing black poison once more.

A laugh escaped the demoness. _You make a foolish decision, dear one. I can offer you much, much more than that fool of a priest can . . . _Faster than a bolt of lightening, her arm shot out again, tracing three thin scores across his cheek; if he had not dodged, it would have been his eye. He was under her flailing limbs even faster, the blade arcing across her stomach, flecks of ichor tracing a burning path up his arm. Ignoring the pain, he stumbled away from her, lifting the Rod once again in his right hand and spinning towards Seth.

The sight that met him caused his eyes to widen and the outstretched hand to fall slightly. Ahum-waqar still held his position behind the High Priest, hands clasped to the head above the arching neck, mouth gaping with ecstasy in the ancient face. The coursing energy sang along Seth's unnaturally positioned and rigid limbs, builiding to blazing, diamond points of blue brilliance behind his wide, sightless, staring eyes. It was the point of contact, however, the glowing join between Ahum-waqar's fingertips and Seth's skull which caught and held Bakura's stare. The ends of the High Master's digits where embedded under Seths skin, knuckle deep in the man's mind itself. There was no blood, it was an invasion, a ghastly wound of one's magic against the other.

And then something shifted and his gaze met Seth's.

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Seth soared above the men below, their souls still earthbound and conscious of the feelings radiating from his physical body. He, however, had left that far behind. The verse he had read from the tablet had taken his soul to another place. He watched the chamber recede, not in the least surprised when he passed through the ceiling, beyond the weathered, rugged walls of the Ziggurat, higher until the temple was a mere speck on the landscape and receding at an accelerating pace. The softly enclosing atmosphere enveloped him as he sped even further, the distant greens and browns of the minute landscape showing through the misty, rolling clouds. Higher and higher, further into a different realm, one of silence, surging power and all-awareness. The sun was clearer than ever, the giant moon hurtling toward him, every pitted indentation and scar clearly visible on its surface. Seth laughed, rapture and delight shining in his eyes as other spheres swam into his view, colossal, more wondrous than anything to be seen in his world. Sweeping, multi-coloured discs, stretching for many miles, belted some, and he saw storms that made him gasp in awe, their destructive force raging across barren landscapes as far as the eye could see with enough power to reduce Egypt and all surrounding kingdoms to dust within a fraction of a second. He beheld the noxious vapours, acid-drenched atmospheres, blizzards blasting across icy surfaces at speeds too great for the mind to fathom. And the driving force, the dark energy suffusing all the spectacles he watched, greater than Shadow magic, greater than the magic used to bind him or any used by a mortal man or ethereal being. _The power of creation, the power that drives the universe itself . . ._

And he understood, with enough shock to nearly expel his soul from his conscious body altogether, the scale of that which he witnessed. _The truth! The relevance of mankind's existence to all that I see here. We are nothing, not even a drop in this infinfite ocean. The power that resides here, that fuels the functioning of everything, far too great for any mortal man to comprehend, let alone wield . . ._The full implications of what he had just discovered struck him then. _Creation can be reversed . . .some things can be destroyed to generate the new . . . _

Horror flooded his being as memory returned to him, recollection of the dark rope connecting him to the High Master of the Order, no doubt seeing all and experiencing all that Seth did now, along with the great enlightenment, the knowledge of the universe. He felt an impatient tug on the river of thought connecting his mind to Ahum-waqar. And realization struck him.

_The High Master could not perform this ritual by himself for a reason. This is why they needed me! They cannot grasp the highest truth, how insignificant they are in the context of the universe if they plan on dominating mankind! They are clouded by their own ambition, something they fail to see. Thus they searched for the right man, the man with enough perceptiveness, with enough strength of soul to let all worldly emotions and ties go, one who could bury a mortal grudge in the face of saving that which is most important to him . . .me. And I am the only one who can stop them, if I simply cut off my flow of understanding. Ahum-waqar may acheive his power, but he cannot use it if he does not understand its true nature . . . _

For a second, he looked back, a beautiful terror clasping his flitting soul with icy hands when he saw how far he had come. And then he pushed with all his might, thousands of miles pouring rhythymically past him as he fought to return, to give the Thief his final instructions.

**********************************************************************************************************************************

Just for a single moment, Bakura saw a clarity in Seth's eyes, one that had never been deeper.

_And the pain, the suffering, the terror, all was gone. His ears were as clear as if he rested in the ruins of his deserted village once more. The High Priest was before him, and yet not. He realised with a jolt that there were words, whispers travelling to him borne on a wispy thread of thought. Seth's thought. They caught at him, wrapped around him, their urgency demanding his attention above all else. _

Thief . . .hear me . . ._ he narrowed his eyes_ . . . you must do as I bid you! Hurry!

Why? _Bakura snarled, his grip around the Rod tightening as he realised that this was the medium of Seth's communication. _Why should I trust the man who took my Ka beast? The man who assists the King who stole my village, my family, all that was dear to me . . .

No!_ The vehemence in the voice nearly keeled him over. Images flickered across his vision, not of his own manufacture. The deserted streets, the collapsed houses, the tiny alleyway in which a small shape crouched, quivering . . . The Thief's eyes widened at the true meaning of what he saw . . . a hand, not his own, lighter skinned with long, scribe's fingers, the hand of the High Priest, stretching out, gently tracing over the silvery hair, cupping the tiny scalp with a tenderness he had not experienced for many years now . . . Bakura let out a low moan, hating with every fibre of his being and yet unable to tear his eyes away from the boy who lifted his torn face, the tall man who knelt, the agony plain on his face as he stretched out his long arms to the stumbling, calling, unseeing child . . ._

Stop! _He wheeled away from the terrible knowledge of his foe, the man he had hated for so long. _

Thief! You must do it! Use the Rod! He must not understand . . . Help me . . . _The plea was his own, the same he had called to the empty windows, the sightless, mocking doors so many years ago . . ._

_And without conscious thought, momentarily strengthening his heart to forget the identity of the man who pleaded with him, Bakura beheld the soul of the man, not the enemy. A door opened in his mind, light, knowledge blazing like a beacon as Diabound roared into life, into freedom, as his Master's soul was whole and free of doubt once more. _

Lamashtu's scream of rage echoed through the chamber as the Ka monster wrapped his magnificent, towering frame around her, crushing the very air from her lungs. The serpent's tail raised, targeting her directly, and a blinding arc of light crashed into her writhing form. Her eyes igniting with the flooding energy, she cast one last, desire-filled call of longing in Bakura's direction before her body imploded, a shadow of vapour flitting to the ceiling until it was no longer visible.

Bakura raised the Rod, aiming not for the High Priest, but for Ahum-waqar. He knew not what it was he did, nor why he was doing it. For the first time in many years, Bakura gave himself to a moment of complete trust, of faith in the knowledge of another. The Rod was warm and responsive under his fingers. A single command, forceful and unwavering.

_You shall not understand._


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh, any Yugioh characters portrayed in this fic, or 'Lamashtu'

**Author notes:** I noted some confusion over the last chapter, which I apologise for. I really didn't know how to write this without over-explanation, thus ruining the flow of the story. Basically, Ahum-waqar has harnessed the power of creation through the ancient tablet, but requires Seth, since he was the only Priest they had tested who had passed the ordeal of understanding (burying his mortal grudge against Bakura when he witnessed what had actually occurred at Kul Elna). Although Ahum-waqar was High Master, he would not subject himself to the risk of madness, that goes without speaking. However, only Seth, amongst them all, could actually comprehend the scale of this power, thus when he persuaded Bakura to mind-control Ahum-waqar, the command was to _not understand._ Once this flow of understanding between Seth and Ahum-waqar was cut off, the High Master no longer could control the force he had harnessed. I hope that provides some clarification sheepish laugh.

**The River of Thought**

The immense force, shooting through the already fragile link between their minds was the first thing that Seth became aware of when his soul inhabited his body once more. Afterwards came the agony. Ahum-waqar was doubled over behind him, his fingers still occupying their intrusive position in Seth's mind. The energy flaming from one to the other built and built with fierce, joyous disregard for the screaming, thrashing form of the High Master. The spell encasing Seth's body had long vanished. With more strength than he knew he possessed, he reached up and grasped Ahum-waqar's wrists, forcing the man's hands deeper into his consciousness. The old eyes widened at the High Priest's actions, a snarl of rage contorting his face, unable to hide the growing panic in his heart. He wrenched, each jerk eliciting a tortured cry from Seth, but still the High Priest held on in a grip that seemed forged from iron.

_This is my final test. I will not fail you, my Pharoah, I will not shame the gift of your pride . . . Remember me, as I was, a man who strived to bear honour in all that he did . . ._

The link between himself and Ahum-waqar was weakening, as was his access to the tremendous energy coursing through every limb. A silence was descending over him, one of his own making. He was no longer aware of Ahum-waqar, but his gaze lifted slightly, beholding the tall form of the Thief before him. Bakura's stood, rooted to the spot, his eyes wide, an almost child-like wonder in their hooded depths that he was sure he would never witness again. Seth's vision began to fade, darkness stealing in softly at the edges, and he barely made out the shapes unfurling and racing around, above and far past the Thief, the Millenium Rod, lying limply, as if forgotten in the large, sinewy hand grasping it. _Let me not fail you, enemy of mine, let hate fall away, even if it is for a moment . . ._

The last thing he recalled was the rocking motion of flight, a cold grasp surrounding his body and two, rough, none-too-gentle fingers resting on his open eyelids, drawing them shut accompanied by a low, raspy "Ra take you, you stupid bastard." He smiled.

**********************************************************************************************************************************

The Thief had watched Seth's struggle with a strange emptiness of mind. Here was the man, the same who had been the bane of his existence for the past few months, the same who had sealed his Ka monster away with such effect, the same whose words had struck Bakura at his very core. And yet, watching his suffering, his sacrifice, his incomprehensible desire for self-destruction all for the sake of others and the even more bizarre wish for understanding between them both, Bakura could not feel the satisfaction he would have liked to experience. He would certainly not risk his life for the sake of the High Priest. His sense of self-preservation was too great and he did not want to tangle with forces beyond his comprehension, like the strange energy pervading the room, all stemming from Seth. And yet . . ._ He is my enemy! Does he think that displaying his awareness of what occurred at my village will turn my judgement of him and all that he stands for? He is a fool. A far greater fool than I or even the Pharoah. _

Bakura gritted his teeth, anger burning in him at his own indescision as Seth reached up, the tortured anguish in his drawn face clearly visible as he grasped at Ahum-waqar, drawing him further towards his fate. A silent explosion rocked the very foundations of the ziggurat as Ahum-waqar lurched slightly forward, naked fear on his face as he thrashed and twisted to escape the High Priest's clutches. Bakura stood motionless, his grip on the Rod tightening as he felt Diabound approach him, ready to encircle his Master should any harm befall him. _You have returned to me, my Ka, my companion, my faithful one . . ._

He reached out a hand, fingertips barely brushing the cold scales for some means of reassurance as Ahum-waqar's head snapped back, scream after scream volleying from his throat as something shifted behind his burning eyes. The High Priest looked up then, the waves of energy, so foreign and yet so familiar brushing Bakura's mind as if the man himself looked into him, tried to see past his enemy's hatred, into his soul. _Let me not fail you, enemy of mine . . ._

The Thief's eyes widened as Seth slumped, the last of the strange, wild magic dissipating from his gaunt form. There was an almost audible crack as the connection between himself and Ahum-waqar severed and he fell forward, limp as a marionette from which the strings have been cut.

_Let hate fall away, even if it is for a moment . . ._

Bakura took a step back, Diabound's tail curling around him as Ahum-waqar staggered away, clawing at his face where green tendrils were snaking out of his mouth and nostrils. The ancient eyes turned to Bakura, pleading to know what was happening to him. The Thief backed further into Diabound's protection, his uneasiness growing as he felt the power charging the very atmosphere within the room transform to something different. He could not remove himself from this place, something greater was occurring here, something which held him spellbound. Ahum-waqar wailed in despair as the tendrils spiralled out of his gaping mouth, gaining in length and thickness and Bakura realised with shock that they were some kind of vine, pointed leaves unfurling at the tips of each shoot. An ominous rumble sounded, stones raining from the high ceiling as the High Master's panicked motions suddenly ceased, hands snapping to his sides, back rigid and stiff as a tree trunk. There was a profound, pregnant silence, Bakura crouching in readiness, and then the very air around them imploded.

The Thief was flung backwards straight into Diabound's coils as a massive blast of energy rocketed outwards from Ahum-waqar's violently shuddering form. A blinding glow lit the entire interior of the vast chamber as every aperture on the High Master's body, every pore on his skin, erupted with shooting, winding vines. They spread across the floor, clutched at the walls, surrounded Bakura and his Ka monster, magnificent bursts of colour and scent as huge flowers, green tree saplings and swirling creepers blossomed and rose like beautiful spectres from the ever growing greenery engulfing them all. Bakura lowered his hand from before his eyes, watching as Ahum-waqar's screams echoed hauntingly, flesh, bone, marrow and sinew unravelling, each component giving rise to new life, new splendour. Hyacinths, roses, lilies, lotus buds and strangely shaped wild species he had never seen before curled and wound around his Ka beast, running delightfully across his bare chest and legs, a crown of crocuses raising their delicate, sparkling yellow heads above his snowy hair. A final drawn out wave and the green magnificence drove straight through the crumbling walls, funnelling past mortar, bricks collapsing under the weight of the raw natural power.

Diabound lifted his Master with swiftness born of the urgency he read in his mind, scooping up the High Priest's lifeless form carelessly between his claws at a curt afterthought. They followed the destructive path the strange foliage had carved through the ziggurat, the entire structure slowly collapsing inwards behind them. With an almighty crash and groan, thundering boulders the size of a house rolled past them below, rapidly covered by the spreading brush. A cohort of hummingbirds whirred past them, the bright shades of their wings reflecting off the Thief's face, azure, purple and gold. Enormous petals of some monstrous bloom burst open beneath Diabound's soaring frame, releasing perfumed clouds of pollen dust, gilt flecks settling on the iridiscent scales. Bakura glanced down, indicating a landing place in a clearing not far away.

A heavy landing released small clouds of dust where Diabound settled, the sweep of his large wings causing the nearby trees to creak and groan in protest. The clawed hand stretched open, the High Priest tumbling limply onto the grass where he lay still. Approaching warily, Bakura unceremoniously turned the prostate, emaciated figure over with his foot. Seth's face was deathly pale, his breathing barely detectable; Bakura could see that he did not have long to suffer if denied proper treatment. Kneeling, he prodded Seth's ribs with the tip of the Millenium Rod. There was no response, not even the faintest flicker of Shadow magic. Frowning, the Thief lifted the rod, experimentally directing it toward a small bird preening in the branches of a nearby beech sapling. Still, no effect. The bird remained as it was, head stroking back and forth rapidly under an outstretched wing and the Rod remained dormant, unresponsive under his fingertips.

A cold feeling gripped Bakura's heart as he tried again and again, channeling some of his Ka monster's strength, but the Rod would not function. _Why will it not work? It has already recognised me as the wielder, else I would not have been able to control the old man. _

Frustration grew in his breast as he pushed with all his might, willing the Rod to display even the remotest signs of life, all to no avail. Snarling, he kicked Seth in the side, arousing as much response as he did from the Rod.

"You damnable son of a bitch! You knew this would happen! You lied to me!" he roared. Unsheathing his dagger, he approached the unmoving form of the High Priest, pausing as he looked down on the fleshless face.

_Kill him and be done with, he serves you no purpose. _But Bakura was not entirely given to irrational impulse. A warning flashed through his mind, recalling him to Seth's plea, his sincerety. _Sincerety, my arse. He is one of them, part of those you hate, those you must defeat and punish . . . _

And yet, another portion of his mind reminded him of the true nature of the man lying helpless beneath him. A man who had sacrificed his life, his status, even his sanity for the sake of a cause even Bakura was uncertain of. Would this man consider it worthwhile to behave dishonourably towards the very enemy he sought reconciliation with in his last hours? Would he betray the one whose suffering he had witnessed, for whom he felt this much guilt and dismay? Bakura's features twisted as an internal battle raged, between his anger at being foiled and his logical thought. Finally he lowered the blade, a slight expression of distaste crossing his face. _This man holds the key, yet again. I cannot kill him. To do such a thing would be dishonourable in his eyes. _It felt strange to the Thief, who had never thought twice about slitting an unsuspecting throat in the dark, that such a thing should concern him. But he clearly recalled Seth's aristocratic sneer, his condescension in their last battle. He would not give this man, dead or not, the satisfaction of considering him below judgement.

_You will not win, High Priest. _A twisted smile appeared as he glanced down, a fresh gleam in his eye. _I will prove myself far above your, or anyone else's expectations. Then you will see me as I am, as an enigma beyond your comprehension or ability to condemn. You will realise the true nature of your foe, one that cannot be defined by a single night in Kul Elna, but by the lifetime of harship and suffering that had to be overcome. A lifetime of pain that your Pharoah's kingdom has condoned as righteous although it was solely due to their past atrocities. Once you have grasped that, once you have addressed that along with your own conscience, then only can I consider the hand of reconciliation you offer. You have handed over the Rod to my keeping, and by Osiris, you will make it work for me someday, you son of a whore. I'll see to that._

He leant over Seth, not registering the flicker of momentary consciousness behind the High Priest's eyes and drew his fingers over the half-open lids.

"Ra take you, you stupid bastard."

Tucking the Rod into his belt, Bakura beckoned to his Ka monster, the giant wings beating the air as they ascended once more, the High Priest still clasped in the mighty talons.

**********************************************************************************************************************************

Ibbin-adad had taken up inhabiting the infirmary for prolonged periods of time, immersing his mind in the procurement of treatment for the invalids. Seth's disappearance had taken its toll on the Ur high court. A heavy silence lay thick in the corridors, a fog of despair and fear lay on all within. The implications of his abduction and the immensity of the consequences was a unspoken dilemma in every court hearing and assembly. Relations with Egypt were already tentative, and with war brewing on their country's very border, the last thing they required was a new source of hostile concern. Despite protests amongst many members of the court that delay was best, tidings had been sent to Egypt, informing the Pharoah of his High Priest and Ambassador's fate. No reply had yet been received, and Ibbin-adad was fully aware that this was probably due to the fact that the Egyptian royal court would not reply by a like message, but possibly with a fleet of well-armed war-ships. It was a well known fact that Seth was the most highly valued of Pharoah Atem's advisors.

Sighing, he put aside the clay tablet, massaging the heel of his palms over sore eyes. And that was when the runner burst in, panting with exertion. Ibbin-adad rose to his feet, clearly expecting the worst. They seemed to receive nothing but ill tidings recently. He was not prepared for the sight which met him just behind the runner, the make-shift stretcher born by two hefty mine-workers who had been appropriated for the task. A long-fingered hand dangled over the edge of the linen, a much bruised and lacerated wrist rising upwards to where the sheepskin covers began. Ibbin-adad took a step forward, mouth opening in a cry of despair when he took in the corpse-like features and starved appearance of the High Priest. He stopped short however when he beheld the hope in the runners eyes, the urgency of his carriers' movements. And he caught sight of the gentle, barely perceptible rise and fall of Seth's chest.

_Impossible . . . he lives . . . _

A groan escaped the High Priest as his eyes fluttered open, focusing on the Sumerian Ambassador's anxious visage. Sound emanated from the dry, cracked lips and Ibbin-adad leaned forward rapidly to catch what was said, fear curling in icy tendrils within his stomach as he expected the delirium and gibberish of all that had gone before.

"F . . .Fetch me some . . . Ra-damned w . . . water . . ."

Joy exploded in Ibbin-adad's chest, the greatest he had known in months. He threw back his head and gave vent to his renewed hope, praising Inanna at a volume that rivalled the city crier as Seth winced and cursed under his breath.

_Holy Ra, somebody make him cease that awful noise._


	16. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yugioh or any Yugioh characters depicted in this fic

**Author notes: **And here it is! The final installment! Please review and let me know if there was any aspect you particularly liked or disliked, comments and criticism are greatly needed for future authoring purposes! Thank you to all my reviewers for all your invaluable advice and encouragement. Hope you enjoyed the story :)

**The River of Thought (Epilogue)**

The Egyptian sunrise was not one that could easily be equalled; so thought the young Pharoah as he stood at the window casement in the Royal Infirmary, the filtering rays surrounding his motionless form, granting him an almost ethereal silhouette. He turned slightly, eyes falling upon the sleeping figure of the High Priest. Seth looked strangely vulnerable, his tall, imposing frame hidden by the sheets, face thin and worn from the prologued starvation he had been subjected to. Without his headdress, the chestnut strands in disarray against the cushioning, one was starkly reminded that there was a man who inhabited this embodiment of authority and command, one who could be injured, broken, killed, admittedly, far less easily than most. But no ordinary man, that Atem knew. There was a conscience, a powerful sense of compassion and duty behind the immovable exterior, a luminous intellect, a soul with greater depth than even he could fathom. Examining the profile of the High Priest, Atem gave a small smile.

_Isis certainly blessed me with great wisdom the day I chose Seth as my Advisor. Whatever the fate of Egypt or our people, I am safe in the knowledge that I have you, my old friend._

With Atem's movement, a ray of sunlight bypassed his shoulder, casting a watery light on the face of the bed's occupant. Seth's eyelids flickered, rapidly assuming their native sharp, vibrant hue as he took in his surroundings, gaze finally falling on Atem.

"My Pharoah."

Atem was pleased to note that the voice that had barely emerged as a faint, hoarse croak when Seth had first arrived had gained both in strength and in some of the old character. He approached the bed.

"You sound improved. I'm glad."

Seth chuckled slightly. "I am too, I can assure you, my Lord."

Atem considered him for a second, deep in thought. "I have considered what you said to me. With regard to the Millenium Rod."

A silence greeted him as Seth glanced up sharply, taking in every detail of Atem's countenance. There was uncertainty there, one that Atem would not accept from a man as loyal as the one before him. He placed a hand on Seth's shoulder.

"Despite what some of the Royal Council think, I am personally of the opinion that your actions in the period of your captivity are beyond commendation. That is why _you_ are my Advisor, not any other. Sometimes, a ruler is caught up with his own kingdom, with the needs of his own people and what is best for them. And that is often the downfall of great dynasties in our history. Each man thinks in terms of his own little universe, the farmer in terms of his crop, the tutor in terms of his pupil, the Pharoah in terms of his country. The world changes around us, my friend. Ages pass and what was once righteous then becomes folly. To not see beyond the sphere of your life, to not consider the soul and rights of another, to judge without deeper knowledge are all mistakes that people make on a regular basis. It takes one such as yourself, my High Priest, to faithfully stand by the _truth_ as _all_ see it, not simply a single man."

Still silent, Seth lowered his eyes, but not before Atem had seen the gratitude and affection in their depths. He smiled and seated himself near the High Priest's bedside, watching the morning steal into the room.

_Thank you, my Pharoah. Thank you for believing._

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The river ran, clear as freshly blown glass near the bank on which he stood, swirling over the smooth rocks, convolutions and miniature currents causing small whirlpools amidst the gray, inert boulders. His hand glistened where he had dipped it in, cupping to take a draught as a means of easing his dry throat. His _calasiri_ lay carelessly draped over the back of his horse; he had removed it to splash his heated body with the cool liquid. Placing a leg up on the rock before him, he leaned forward, elbow resting on his knee.

_There will be no rest for me, not now, not ever, until I obtain what is rightfully mine. They will know no peace, no freedom from my vengeance until they acknowledge what was done. _

A smirk toyed across the curling lips as his thoughts traveled to the High Priest. _You, alone, my enemy, have a fraction of my respect, although I will never understand what it is that motivates your loyalty to a kingdom that epitomises the bloodshed you spend your life ostracizing. Maybe common sense will find you someday, maybe on that day you will have your faith shaken to its core and question your belief. I will be there, then, watching to see if you crumble or stand strong, whether you face me with dignity or shame. I will be watching my friend, and until then . . ._

A laugh escaped him, rough, wild, captivating as a cobra's yellow gaze. He slung the leather belt over a broad shoulder, twirling the golden Rod between his fingers.

_. . . Until then, you can be sure that I will find you and the use of the Rod will be mine. You will learn that truth is harder to acheive than you think. There is darkness in the soul of every man, how else do you harness the Shadows to do your bidding? And yet you fight the darkness, whilst I . . ._

Sunlight gleamed on ivory hair, on the briefly exposed canines, the dark skin glistening with dampness, power rippling beneath like the restless sea, and then he was gone.

_. . . I embrace the darkness. It is the lover who moves in unision with me, the guide who sets my path, my truth. I am the darkness, my friend, I am the shadow created in your image and you will not escape me. _

**********************************************************************************************************************************

_There is silence at initiation of the waters. The pause before creation, before the cry of new life, of new beginning. Fresher, purer than a lily bobbing its budding head in Spring, the waters flow through the mountains of laughter, of innocence and curiosity. Sweeping through the fields, the plantations of experience, past the men and women and the new hope that passes by word of mouth, the river swells, ever gaining in wisdom. The currents, sluggish with silt, the dark awareness within every man, every soul, carries its burden further, far from the light, the joy of the young. As depth grows, so does the consciousness of fate, the threads that draw and bind all men and women. The soul passes trial, it passes tempation, agony, despair. The river flows faster, slower, the ever changing pace reflecting the belief, the strength of a man's heart. Branches emanate like winding serpents, the paths that lead one astray, but the river forges on. The cities receive the mighty Euphrates, embracing the tides of change, the opening of minds to possibility, to faith, to acceptance. The river of thought, of knowledge, of discovery, flows to the sea._

**THE END**


End file.
